


The Benefits of Matchmaking

by carry_on_a



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Enemies to Lovers, Explicit Smut, F/M, Friends With Benefits, Roommates, and they were fucking roommates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-10-29 16:07:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 30,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20799353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carry_on_a/pseuds/carry_on_a
Summary: When Sirius moves out due to apromotionof all things, James needs to find a new flatmate immediately thanks to a clause in his lease. Luckily (or perhaps unluckily) Euphemia Potter is there to save the day and spring one very attractive, very aggravating, recently-evicted-from-her-flat Lily Evans on him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this was mostly the excuse to write some shameless Jily smut, but even still I think I should apologize for the flagrant…depravity that parts of this turned into. The rating is warranted in future chapters, so consider yourself warned.  
This was originally supposed to be a one-shot, but then it got ridiculously long and it was either split it into chapters or have the length police come after me. The first three chapters are done and just need to be edited and posted, and the last two are almost done.

**Five Days Before**

James Potter knew his life was going to shit on the 12th of January with the imminent and unavoidable arrival of the daily post.

“I’ve been served,” Sirius declares at breakfast, prodding a piece of paper distastefully with a Fruit Loop. “Twenty to life.”

“Have you broken the law again recently?” James asks.

Sirius twists his lips. “Fucking hell, I wish. I’ve been _promoted.”_ He says the word like its poison. “Sergeant. I start on Monday.”

James drops his spoon. “Are you fucking serious?”

Sirius glowers elegantly. Everything Sirius does is elegant. Sirius even walks to the loo elegantly. “Don’t make me go there.”

James picks up his spoon and immediately throws it in the sink. God knows when the last time they cleaned the kitchen floor was. When they moved in two years ago probably. “Mate, that’s amazing!”

Sirius sneers. “Fucking bureaucracy,” is all he mutters, but he’s pleased, James can see it in the way he’s frowning. “I’ll need to hijack Remus into moving my stuff.”

James, who just got another clean spoon from the drawer, drops this one too. “Moving your stuff?”

Sirius’s lip curls. “Sergeant in Camden,” he informs him. “Gotta find a new flat.” He adds unrepentantly, “Maybe this one will come without the fucking cat hair on my clothes and some wanker using up all the hot water.”

“I do not use up all the hot water!” James objects, because a principle is a principle and he will not be made a liar of (so what if he occasionally like to indulge in a leisurely soak? It’s as much his shower as it is Sirius’s. It’s his prerogative what he does with his shower time, thank you very much) even though it is now just dawning on him that Sirius is moving. _Moving._ Out of their little Notting Hill flat, away from James’s crotchety cat and the kitchen faucet that only pours hot water and Chinese takeout Fridays.

But Sirius has worked hard for this and James is nothing if not a supportive mate, so he puts on a smile and says, “I’ll help you move your shit, you tosser.”

Sirius sneers genteelly and flips him off and James tries to ignore the sinking feeling in his gut.

On the 14th of January, after dozens of boxes, a very angry cat, a broken toe (Peter’s) and nearly losing the moving truck in Cambridge (James’s fault), Sirius moves out, tosses a fuck you over his shoulder, kicks the door shut and is gone.

That’s when the trouble starts.

* * *

**Two Days Before**

“Lil, there’s some bossy woman here to see you.”

Lily, who was browsing through cat pictures on Google, snaps her laptop shut with what she hopes isn’t a guilty expression. Technically, she’s on break but Lena Hardwick from editorial has jumped on Lily for smaller things than this. “What?” she says, twisting around in her swivel chair. The only fun perk of sitting at a desk, though the slow squeak makes her want to wince. “Who?”

Dorcas Meadowes shrugs, the fringe of her hand knitted sweater swaying with the movement. She eyes the mess of pens, papers, old sweet wrappers and elastic bands on Lily’s desk, wrinkling her nose, but doesn’t comment. “Tall, silvery hair, looks like she could take down a mafia ring—oh, here she is.”

Dorcas scurries away and Lily doesn’t really blame her.

Euphemia Potter certainly does look like she could take down a mafia ring.

Heels clack on the linoleum floors and the woman—stately, beautiful, silver hair twisted in an elegant chignon and brown skin positively glowing in a way that Lily didn’t think existed outside of shampoo commercials—descends on her. “Darling!” Euphemia sweeps Lily into a hug before she can react and suddenly she’s lost in a cloud of fancy imported silk and Chanel perfume.

Awkwardly sitting in her chair, with her knee pressed painfully into the desk and half the office watching them, Lily attempts to hug Euphemia back before the taller woman backs away, beaming.

“I’m terribly sorry to drop by unannounced,” she says, bouncing on her feet and looking around. “I’m sure you’re up to your ears in work in an exciting newspaper office like this.”

Considering the fourth floor office is moving at a sluggish pace due to the fact that lunch break is in ten minutes and seems immeasurably far away and Gideon Prewitt has started throwing pens at a piece of stuck chewing gum on the ceiling, ‘exciting’ seems like a bit of a stretch.

“Not at all,” Lily says, waving a hand. It’s impossible to be mad at Euphemia, with that little kid in a candy store sparkle she carries around with her. The woman simply oozes enthusiasm and charm and Lily is hard-pressed not to admit she’s grown fond of her in the few months they’ve been acquainted. “The only thing you’re distracting me from is being yelled at by my boss when she sees all the cute cat pictures I’ve been emailing myself from my work email.”

Euphemia cackles, throwing an elegantly manicured hand—and a very pricy looking handbag—in the air. “Oh, you lovely thing,” she says, twinkling down at Lily. “I knew there was a reason I liked you.”

“Was it because I heeded your request and made our photographer redo your profile picture thirty times until you were satisfied?”

“Well, obviously,” Euphemia says. “Image is everything, darling, and I can’t have a double chin on my cover story. You know what they say, print adds ten pounds.” She pats her middle thoughtfully. “So does age, so I may just be fooling myself.”

“Nonsense,” Lily says. “You’re gorgeous.”

Euphemia winks. “Always could procure compliments,” she says. “Monty says I have a knack for it. Then again my husband has been impressed that I know how to boil an egg, so that’s not saying much.”

Lily snorts, then tries to cover it up with a cough. “So, what can I do for you, Euphemia?” She’d tried calling her Mrs. Potter—once, on the day they met for the article—and had been firmly and thoroughly shut down. When Lily had heard she was going to be doing a profile piece on the woman who’d founded several charity organizations for children’s hospitals in the South London area, she’d imagined either a hippie twenty-something wearing jean cutoffs and a tie-dyed shirt and a backpack, ready to head off anywhere, or an elderly matron presiding over maids in ruffly caps in a drawing room. Euphemia, 65 years old, wearing the most beautiful sari Lily had ever seen, sashaying into the room and immediately declaring how attractive Lily was and _wouldn’t she meet her _very single _son?_ and _here, darling, have a macaron. I get these shipped over from Paris and I’m afraid they sent too many this time so I just had to find _someone _to share them with _hadn’t been at all what she was expecting but Lily had quickly warmed to the woman’s sharp wit, wonderful sense of humor and emanating warmth and the interview had ended up being one of the most enjoyable she’d ever done.

Euphemia’s smile kicks up a notch and the sparkle turns into a full out dazzle.

_Uh oh._ Lily sits up straighter.

“Well, I heard through the grapevine,” Euphemia begins delicately.

“Meaning through your spies that you bribe on the second floor?”

“Exactly, darling.” She settles herself neatly on the edge of Lily’s desk. “Anyhow, I heard you’re looking for a new flat. And, as it happens, I know of a place that’s just become available.” Her smile widens. “No one else knows about it yet, so you’d get first bid.”

“Oh.” Lily’s stomach clenches. The thought of her living situation was something she’d been adamantly _not_ thinking about all morning, which is rather difficult when she’s currently living on her best mate’s couch and said best mate keeps sending her selfies. It wasn’t that she was particularly attached to her old flat—it was the best she could afford a few years ago, fresh out of uni, and she’d shared it with one of her friends. Until said ‘friend’ had made a few racist, misogynistic, homophobic comments to her face and she had promptly decided a change of address was in order. Lily twirls a strand of red hair around her finger. “Oh, Euphemia, thank you, that’s so kind—”

“Oh, it’s nothing, darling,” Euphemia says, waving a hand dismissively. “It’s a lovely place, I can promise you—and _very_ affordable. Would you like to see it?”

That slightly assuages one of Lily’s worries. Euphemia, with her Gucci handbags and 100% imported silk pashminas, isn’t exactly in the same price range as Lily, 25 year old journalist with a mountain—a tower, a landslide—of student loans.

Then again, Euphemia’s version of ‘very affordable’ might be quite different than Lily’s.

Still…

“Sure, I’d love to see it,” Lily says. Worst comes to worst she wastes an afternoon and Mary’s been on her back about finding someplace to live.

Euphemia positively beams and hops up. “Excellent! Come along, we’ll catch a cab.”

Lily blinks, thrown. “Right now? I’m working.”

“Lunch break started two minutes ago,” Euphemia says precisely.

Lily looks around and sees with a start that the office is a lot emptier than it had been just a few minutes ago, and the clock says 1:02.

“Oh, well I wouldn’t want to be an inconvenience,” Lily objects.

“Nonsense!” Euphemia grabs onto her arm with a steel grip and lifts her from her chair. “I’m an old, retired woman—I’ve got nothing better to do with my time besides shag my husband and yell at the Prime Minister of Ireland for letting his dog drool on my Oriental rug. Come along, dear.”

With barely enough time to grab her phone and purse from her desk, Lily is whisked off.

Euphemia—thankfully—isn’t equipped with a limousine and a driver with a little cap (today at least) and they hail a cab that Euphemia directs with all the panache and gusto of an Admiral at sea.

Lily feels very slightly uncomfortable as the cab makes its way through the busy London streets. For all that she likes Euphemia, she doesn’t really know the woman all that well.

Euphemia doesn’t seem to feel any of the awkwardness and sits across from Lily, still beaming fondly at her as though she’s a very adorable puppy she received in the post.

But Lily’s stomach drops as the cab turns off the main road and into Notting Hill. She’s familiar with the area—she had a mate who lived out here during uni—which is why when the cabbie pulls up on Leinster Square her unease triples. It’s a posh area. It’s a _rich_ area.

Euphemia elegantly steps out of the cab and nods to the porter (there’s a fucking _porter) _as she pushes open the doors to a charming, classy lobby.

Lily follows and tries not to look lost as she sees a sign taped to the lift.

**OUT OF ORDER (DOGS STILL NOT ALLOWED, SIRIUS)**

It looks like it was written by a two year old, the scrawl slanted and strangely appealing. Whoever had written it had stuck it to the lift with a Ramones magnet and doodled a deer jumping from an airplane in the corner.

Her lips twitch.

Euphemia takes the stairs with purpose, Lily scurrying after her, and stops in front of a white painted door on the second floor.

Lily takes in the slightly tarnished gold number 23 and the doormat, this one decorated with cats.

“Here we are,” Euphemia says, producing a key from her purse and pushing open the door. “Come on in.”

The whole situation is so strange that Lily follows her inside mutely, taking in the flat and promptly jerks to a halt.

“Living room over here,” Euphemia directs as though she’s a real estate agent. “Beautiful windows, lots of natural light. That chair in corner is going, though, it looks like he found it at a rummage sale.” She doesn’t give a name to this mysterious ‘he’ and moves deeper into the house. “Kitchen, marble counter tops—excellent traction, should you need something like that, dear—two bedrooms. One bathroom, unfortunately, but he’s good at sharing.”

Lily finally manages to find her tongue. “He?”

Euphemia pauses in the middle of opening a closet. She looks like she should be armed with brochures and perfectly baked, tantalizing brownies to hand out and seal the million pound deal. “Oh, yes, I should have mentioned that. You’d have a flatmate—he’s a lovely boy, really. Desperately single, but we can’t have everything in life I suppose. He’s in his last year of graduate school. Good ears. Has a cat he is frankly rather obsessed with. Do you like cats, dear?”

“Uh.” Lily tries not to look thrown. “I love them.”

Euphemia looks strangely ecstatic. “_Perfect,_” she says, clapping her hands together. “Oh, any opinion on the Clash? The Ramones? The Rolling Stones?”

“Good…bands?”

Euphemia nods decisively. “Excellent match,” she murmurs to herself. “Oh, listen to me going on and on! What do you think of the place?”

“It’s…well, it’s really nice,” Lily says, trying not to let her true emotions show on her face. The truth is this place is perfect, the flat beautiful (and clean) and the bedroom that would be hers is larger than the one in her old flat. It has a full kitchen and even though she’s a shit cook she knows Mary will appreciate it and use it to cook up any number of delicious delicacies. And the flatmate isn’t even that large a bother. She only lived on her own once and didn’t care much for it, it felt too lonely.

But that’s the problem. This place is beautiful and spacious and has a _porter_ and its in fucking Leinster Square and it is one hundred percent, completely certainly out of Lily’s price range.

Euphemia clicks her tongue. “Nice is an understatement,” she says proudly, as if she’d built this flat with her own two hands. “The lease is a year, with option to renew for two more years. And the old flatmate is completely gone, so you could move in whenever.”

Lily looks around again, trying to think of ways to break the news to Euphemia that doesn’t make her sound like a charity case. _I’m a broke millennial on a working salary. It’s a bit out of my budget right now. And probably forever. This is a 200k a year flat and I don’t make that much._

“Uh, Euphemia…”

“It’s £2000 per month,” Euphemia says. “Including utilities.”

Lily freezes, eyes going wide. She spots the marble countertops, the tall windows that do let in tons of natural light. A cat and a flatmate she’s never met who could be an axe murderer for all she knows…

“I’ll take it,” she says.

* * *

**Day 1**

Mary manages to be both ecstatic that Lily is finally off her couch and completely skeptical at her new living situation.

“And how exactly do you know your new flatmate isn’t bonkers?” she huffs as they lug boxes of Lily’s stuff up the stairs two days later. The lift still hasn’t been repaired, though Euphemia assured Lily through a series of texts at 3 A.M. that it ‘would be fixed as soon as possible darling’ and to ‘call her if she needs anything at all’ such as an interior decorator or French macarons or an appointment with her hair stylist or the number of her very single son.

“I don’t,” Lily says, pausing to shift her grip on the box. It weighs a ton, meaning it’s probably filled with her books. “But Euphemia says he’s a close friend and he has a cat, so he can’t be that bad.”

“You and cats,” Mary mutters. She eyes the stairway. “Still can’t believe you managed to snag this place. If I’d known it was available I would have jumped on it.”

“First of all,” Lily says. “Cats are marvelous, take that back. Secondly, you already have a perfectly good flat. Jumping on this one would have left you with two flats and me with none. You really would’ve sold me out like that?”

“In a heartbeat,” Mary answers promptly. “You have a _kitchen,_ Lil. I would sell my own mother to the Devil for a kitchen instead of a shitty little stovetop.”

“You have a kitchen at work,” Lily points out as they start climbing the stairs again. “A fancy, professional kitchen that you use to create many delicious delicacies that I insist that you make for me as a housewarming present.”

Mary rolls her eyes. “That’s at _work,”_ she complains. “I have to cook whatever my boring arse manager ‘requires’ me to. At home, I can experiment with whatever I’d like.”

“Like the time you put an entire jar of Cayan pepper in a raspberry souffle?”

Mary flips her off, which is quite impressive considering the box she’s holding. “Open up the fucking door, will you? Your shit is heavy, and my arms are going numb.”

Lily laughs but props her box on her hip so she can use the key that she received at the lease signing yesterday (which Euphemia had strangely been present for, like a pseudo-officiant for some very strange wedding).

The door pushes open easily and Lily maneuvers herself into her new flat. It looks just as amazing as the first time she saw it, but now there’s a coat laying across the back of the couch.

Mary and Lily set down their boxes on the dining table and Mary lets out a groan, rubbing her elbow. “Why couldn’t you have hired movers?” she complains.

“Too expensive,” Lily says, looking around. She lives here now. It’s hard to believe, when just this morning she was waking up on Mary’s uncomfortable pull out couch.

“Cheaper than my physical therapy bill,” Mary mutters.

Lily flicks her on the nose and Mary squawks. “Oy, keep your little rat hands to yourself,” she says.

Lily snorts. “Rat hands? If anyone has rat hands, it’s you. Yours are absurdly tiny.”

Mary looks like she has any number of responses to that, but before she can get them out a bloke—a very fit bloke—comes out from the kitchen, holding a bag of groceries. His glasses are crooked and he’s frowning in concentration, then he sees them and jerks to a halt. “What the—who the hell are you?”

Mary shrieks and Lily drops her box.

“You—will you stop screaming, holy shit—” the bloke grabs into his bags of groceries and comes out with a baguette, which he brandishes like a sword. “Who the fuck are you and what are you doing in my flat? And where’s my cat?”

“Who are _we?”_ Lily gapes at him. “Who are _you? _This is my fla—wait, your flat?” Her heart, still thundering, clenches. “You’re my new flatmate?”

It’s as much bad news as it is good. On the one hand, at least he’s not some sort of lurking axe murderer trying to kill unsuspecting girls. On the other hand, it means that her new flatmate is…well, unfairly fit and she’s struck by how she desperately wants to straighten his glasses and also how if she were to run into him in a pub or at work, he’s exactly the sort of bloke she’d flirt with.

But he splutters, his hair sticking up in all directions. “Flatmate? I don’t have a bloody flatmate. Well, not since Sirius decided to fuck off without a care for fourteen years of friendship. Still haven’t forgiven him for that. Am considering a strongly worded letter suing him for emotional damages. I haven’t even started looking for a new flatmate!”

Lily stares at him. Fit, but possibly a bit dim, then. “What the bloody hell are you talking about?” she says. “Euphemia showed me the flat two days ago and we signed the lease yesterday—”

“Euphem—” the bloke chokes. “_Mum?_ You—my _mum_ got you this flat?”

Lily gapes at him. “Mum--wait, _you’re_ Euphemia’s son? The single one?”

The bloke grips his baguette. “I—wha—_mum.”_ He looks rather furious suddenly. “She didn’t even ask—oh, I’m going to _murder_ her.”

“Great,” Mary calls out from where she’d ducked behind the chaise. “Murdering mothers, great. Truly, fab. But since we’ve all established that none of us are here to kidnap each other, do you think you could lower the baguette sword?”

He blinks at them. “That’s…” He looks at the baguette and slowly lowers it. “Oh. Uh. Sorry.” He swipes his hand through his hair nervously.

Mary’s still hunched over behind the chaise and she gives Lily a look, that best friend look that they’ve perfected over the years that doesn’t require any explanation and Lily can practically see the words in Mary’s eyes. _Get out of here and far far away from this baguette wielding lunatic._ Mary straightens with a choked, nervous laugh and edges towards the door. “You know, I think I just remembered—”

She gets her first, proper look at the bloke and comes to a complete halt, blinking so furiously its ridiculous.

She stares.

“Never mind,” she says to Lily, eyes wide. “Avert Plan: Baguette Murderer. I’d let that bloke murder me with a baguette any day. My god, Lily have you seen his forearms? I want to eat stuff off his forearms.”

The bloke makes a vague choking sound and she’s surprised (and somewhat charmed, if she’s being honest) to see a flush spread across his cheeks. But she glares at Mary, wrenching her arm away as her own cheeks positively catch fire. “_Mary,”_ she hisses. “Sorry about her,” she says to the bloke with a falsely casual laugh that she thinks comes off as slightly strained. He probably thinks they’re nuts. “She’s…going through something right now.”

“I want him to be going through me,” Mary murmurs.

Lily pinches her, hard.

Mary yelps and rubs her arm, scowling at Lily. “Bitch,” she mutters and Lily pretends not to hear.

“No…problem,” the bloke says, recovering remarkably well. He clutches his hair with one hand and grins somewhat nervously at Lily. “I guess we’re roomies,” he says and Lily tries not to roll her eyes. _Who says roomies?_

She smiles tightly and does _not _think about how Mary was absolutely right about the forearms. His sleeves are pushed up to the elbow and the smooth, brown, perfectly shaped forearms are the nicest she’s ever seen. “I guess,” she says. “Though I’m starting to wonder if your mother had ulterior motives in getting me this flat besides a housing crisis on my side.”

The bloke laughs. “Uh, I’m James by the way,” he says, sticking out his hand. “James Potter. Sorry for the…baguette…thingy.”

“No problem,” Mary jumps in immediately, still eyeing him like he’s a prime rib. She shakes his hand, lingering longer than is exactly appropriate and lets out a low, giggly laugh. “No problem at all. I’m Mary MacDonald.”

Lily wants to protest—it most certainly is a _problem._ Baguettes could be deathly instruments if wielded correctly, and while this bloke didn’t look like he even knew how to plug in a toaster properly, she didn’t like to take chances—but it’s starting to dawn on her that James—this strange, baguette wielding, very fit bloke with very nice forearms—is going to be her roommate for the next year, so for the sake of peace she just says, “Don’t worry about it. It was probably a bit startling to see us in here.”

“Oh, definitely,” James agrees and then stares at her. He lifts one brow. “And you are…?”

“Oh!” Lily starts and shakes her head to clear it. She offers her hand. “Lily Evans. Nice to meet you.”

James shakes her hand and she will _not_ sink to the same level as Mary, but she can’t help but notice how his hands are nearly twice the size of hers and the rough callouses on his fingers. A strange thing for a grad student, but she doesn’t let herself linger on it—or linger on him—as she pulls her hand back and smiles awkwardly at James.

“So…” he says, hand immediately going back to his hair. “Do you guys need any help?”

Mary looks ready to jump on the offer, no doubt eager to see him straining to lift boxes, but Lily says, “Oh, no, we’ve got it. Don’t want to interrupt your morning anymore than we already have.”

James laughs and shrugs. She can see the resemblance to Euphemia now, they’ve got the same nose and smile that pulls at the corner of their mouths. “Not interrupting much of anything,” he admits somewhat sheepishly. “I was just debating writing a strongly worded letter to the Tesco across the street.”

“Are they bothering you?”

“They think it’s acceptable to promote false advertising,” he informs her. “They put cats on the posters for that free lunch thingy, but I showed up and there sure as hell weren’t any cats. Only very lacking bratwurst.”

Mary snorts, clearly thinking he’s kidding, but James’s face is dead earnest, not seeing anything strange with complaining about the lack of cats at a supermarket.

“Er, great,” Lily says. “Well, I’ll just finish moving up the rest of my stuff, then.”

James hefts his baguette-weapon and uses it to salute her. Mary looks like she wants to jump his bones. Lily is wondering if she’ll be better off on Mary’s couch.

It’s a rocky start.

* * *

**Day 2**

On her first morning in her new flat, she wakes up to a cat sitting on her chest.

Lily blinks awake and the very fluffy white and grey cat looks at her calmly, tail swishing. It meows.

Groggily, Lily tries to pet it, but it hisses and scurries off her chest.

“Well, why did you come up here then?” she asks it as the cat looks reproachfully up at her. ‘Up’ is a bit of an overstatement. She and Mary had managed to haul her mattress up the stairs (thankfully James had been out for the rest of the day and didn’t have to see them struggle and nearly knock over a Tiffany lamp that had Euphemia written all over it) but hadn’t bothered to put together the frame, so her bed is just a bare mattress on the wooden floor. The rest of her stuff is in a similar state of disarray all around her. The former resident had left dozens of Sex Pistols and Metallica posters on the walls and she’d spent an hour pulling them all down and doing her best to patch up the holes in the paint.

The cat meows again, bringing her attention back to it. This must be James’s cat, she thinks.

Lily puts her feet on the floor and holds out her hand for the cat to sniff. It does, then gives Lily an affronted look and scampers over to the door with an expectantly demanding look.

Lily squeezes her eyes shut and tries to stifle the irritation in her chest. Of course, James would have the one cat in the world that doesn’t like her.

She tries not to see it as an omen for her life here, but Lily has always been on the far side of superstitious.

Her phone reads 7:21 (she has to be at work at 8:30) and there’s two texts from Mary.

**Mary MacDonald (6:17 A.M.): ** _have u and ur fit flatmate had a ‘sleepover’ yet ? ;)_

**Mary MacDonald (6:18 A.M.):** _just remember to use protection, Lil, a baby is so not in the cards for u right now_

Lily’s face goes hot and she glares at her phone so hard she’s surprised it doesn’t burst into flames.

**Lily Evans (7:22 A.M.): ** _fuck off_

Mary responds almost immediately.

**Mary MacDonald (7:23 A.M.): ** _fuck him_

Lily throws her phone across her room.

She grabs her robe and wraps it around herself, checking in her phone camera to make sure that her hair is brushed and she’s not showing anything she doesn’t want her housemate seeing. Her very attractive housemate, she thinks, looking down at her bunny pajamas, then gets ahold of herself.

_You are not trying to attract this man,_ she tells herself. _You are _not. _Mary just got in your head._

With this in mind, she opens up the door (the cat darts off with a loud, reproachful meow) and steps into the hallway.

The door to James’s room, which is across the hall and she’s yet to see inside, is closed and there’s no sounds from inside so she assumes he had an early tutorial and heads into the kitchen.

“—fuck off, Remus,” a drawling voice says. “You ate all the fig ones.”

“Since when do you like _figs_, Sirius?” another male voice demands.

Someone else snorts with laughter. “James’s been holding out on us.”

Lily jerks to a halt.

The three blokes sitting in the kitchen—_her_ kitchen—look up at her entrance. Two are sitting respectably on the barstools, but one has his feet tossed up on the counters and is munching on raisin crackers. _Her _raisin crackers.

The one with his feet on the counter raises an aristocratic brow at her, not looking surprised in the least. His dark hair is framing his face in a way that looks careless but Lily knows takes hours of careful styling. “Morning, Evans,” he says through a mouthful of cracker.

One of the other blokes, a sandy haired chap with a scar on his cheek, at least has the decency to look embarrassed.

“Uh, who exactly are you?” Lily asks, self-consciously tightening her robe around her and looking subtly for a bat or a frying pan or something heavy she could use to hit these blokes over the head with.

“I’m Remus Lupin,” the sandy-haired bloke said. “This is Peter.” Peter waves, grinning. “And the arse on the counter is Sirius.”

“Don’t make a joke about the name,” Peter warns.

Lily tries to keep her face blank. “Wasn’t going to,” she says. “And how do you know me?”

“We’re James’s mates,” Peter offers. He steals a cracker from Sirius, who flips him off and scowls at Lily as though she’s done something to personally offend him. “Boring arse had to go to tutorial.” He sounds actually surprised by this. “Mentioned the bird who moved in before he left though.”

Lily’s head is starting to hurt. “Did he now.”

“So you’re the bird whose taken my spot, have you,” Sirius says acidly.

Lily’s nails dig into her palms and she doesn’t bother making her face look friendly as she says, “The way I hear it you fucked off for work and left James in the lurch. Shouldn’t you be a bit glad he found someone to take over the lease?”

Sirius actually ponders that. “Not really, no,” he shrugs and reaches for another cracker.

Lily snatches the box out of his hand. “These are mine,” she snaps. “And so is_ that.” _

‘That’ being a bunch of bananas, milk and a few homecooked dishes that Mary had given her all spread out on the counter and in the midst of being eaten. It had been her plan to survive on this for the next few days until she was settled and could run out to the shops.

Sirius blinks at the box in her hand. “So?”

_So?_

Lily’s irritation turns to full out rage. “How did you even get in here?” she demands, turning to the other two, because even looking at Sirius, who is smirking, is too much for her right now.

“We have a key,” Remus says apologetically. “And Sirius—drop her food. Sorry about him, he’s not house trained.”

“Fucker,” Sirius mutters.

“James usually doesn’t mind if we hang out here while he’s at tutorial,” Peter says offhand.

Lily’s eyes narrow. “Does he now,” she says, crossing her arms. _We’ll see about that. _

“Sorry about the food,” Remus says. “Sirius, say you’re sorry.”

“No,” Sirius says.

Remus whacks him on the back of the head.

“Fine, sorry,” Sirius bites off, but the way he’s still glaring at her says everything about the sincerity of his apology.

Lily glares right back. “Whatever,” she says. “Just—keep the food. I have to go to work.”

“We can replace it if you like—” Peter offers.

It’s rude, but she’s pissed off so she ignores him and shuts herself in the bathroom, locking the door firmly.

At least there aren’t any errant mates lurking in here and she’s vaguely pleased beneath all her irritation to see that the bathroom is spotless and that all the towels are hung properly. There’s even one rack and a shelf cleared off for her.

Her good mood lasts until she steps in the shower and turns on the water.

_“Ah—”_

Lily jerks out of the shower—the ice cold, _freezing_ shower—and desperately turns the handle towards Hot.

The water stays freezing and she spots the damp towel hanging from the rack and a bath mat on the floor.

She clenches her jaw so hard it almost snaps and turns off the shower. In tutorial or not, she’s texting James about this—

She reaches for her phone, before remembering that she left it in her room and also that she doesn’t have his number.

_Fuck._

There’s raucous laughter from the kitchen and Lily takes a deep breath to calm herself as she gets dressed before heading back out.

“Hey.”

The boys are still sitting in the kitchen and have continued to help themselves to her food. She tries not to be annoyed by that. She did tell them they could eat it.

She tries for a friendly smile. “Do any of you happen to have James’s number?”

Peter rattles it off quickly and Lily grabs a piece of paper to write it down. “Thanks,” she says.

“You gonna call him and yell at him?” Sirius asks.

Lily glares. “I haven’t decided yet,” she snaps. “And get your damn feet off the counter.” She stomps away.

In her room, she dials James’s number and—just her luck—gets his voicemail. She debates leaving a message, but isn’t sure her rage won’t seep into her voice.

Instead, she texts him.

**Lily Evans (8:02 A.M.): ** _Hi, James. This is Lily. Sorry to disturb you while you’re in tutorial, but I got your number from your mates (I woke up to them in the kitchen). I was just wondering how big the water heater is here? I tried to take a shower and it was freezing. Thanks! -Lily_

She drops her phone and starts to get dressed. She’s buttoning her shirt when her phone buzzes.

**+0 20 7123 1234 (8:08 A.M.): ** _hey lily. Sorry about my mates they can be tossers. hope they didnt bother u. it’s a pretty big water heater but sometimes i take long showers. ill try not to in the future. cheers -j_

It’s a perfectly acceptable text message (aside from the punctation) but Lily still scowls down at it.

**+0 20 7123 1234 (8:09 A.M.): ** _did u meet Rosa yet?_

**Lily Evans (8:09 A.M.): ** _Is that your cat? If she’s white and grey and likes to lie on top of unsuspecting sleeping people and then hiss at them then yes_

**+0 20 7123 1234 (8:10 A.M.): ** _u’ve met her then. i named her after rosa diaz_

**+0 20 7123 1234 (8:10 A.M.): ** _full name is det. rosa diaz_

**+0 20 7123 1234 (8:11 A.M.): ** _doesn’t like it when u call her by her first name. rank needs 2 be acknowleded_

**Lily Evans (8:11 A.M.): ** _okay?_

**+0 20 7123 1234 (8:11 A.M.): ** _bloody brilliant show. u’ll like her when u get to know her. _

The statement is presumptuous enough that Lily debates texting back something like ‘I hate cats’ but having seen just how strange he was about cats yesterday she thought he might find it grounds for kicking her out, so she settles for a noncommittal smiley emoji that is far brighter than her current mood.

James doesn’t text her again and she can still hear his mates making a racket in the kitchen, eating her food and generally making her life miserable.

Lily checks the time (8:16) and curses, grabbing her computer bag and charger as she hurries out into the hall.

“Hey, Evans,” Peter calls as she’s passing them. “James asked us to move a table into the flat and we need another pair of hands. Think you could give us a hand?”

Lily wants to say no—a resounding, curse-filled _no—_but she’s not confrontational enough to make enemies on her second day. Besides, she reasons as she nods her assent, how long can it take?

* * *

She’s half an hour late for work.

“Don’t ask,” she huffs as Gideon Prewitt meets her at the door.

He eyes her rumpled appearance and scowl and his eyebrow inches up.

“Dorcas is looking for you,” he informs her instead. “Something about your last piece.”

Lily groans, rubbing her rapidly starting to ache head. “Perfect,” she mutters. “Just _perfect.”_

Several people in the office ask her how her new flat is—she has no idea how word got around so fast, but she has a feeling that Alice Longbottom on the second floor, who is quite chatty and one of Euphemia’s so-called spies, is to blame—and she lies her arse off.

_Good. Great. Nice flatmate. Quiet. Easy to move in. _

No one at the Daily Prophet knows her well enough to spot the permanent wince edged in her brow and so she makes it through the day relatively unscathed.

Internally, though, she’s seething.

There’s no way she do this. She can’t live with an idiot and his insane cat _and_ his three annoying mates. Its too much for her.

Her last flat had been shared with a Neo-Nazi supremacist who’d called her all sorts of horrible slurs just because her mum was an immigrant (from _Ireland, _for fucks sake) and she’d lasted two years there.

She hadn’t even lasted two _days._

She’s in so much shit.

* * *

When Lily returns to the flat (she can’t think of it as home) that night, she’s relieved to find that James’s mates are gone.

Who is there is James and, to her horror, Euphemia.

“Darling!”

The minute Lily opens the door Euphemia is fluttering at her and enveloping her in her very firm embrace. Lily can just see James at the counter, pausing halfway through cutting carrots as he stares at them.

Euphemia pulls back and beams at Lily. “I just had to come by and see how you were settling in!”

Lily smiles to hide a groan. This is the last thing she needs right now.

“Fine,” she says. “It’s—just fine.”

“Let her breathe, Mum,” James says, coming out from the kitchen. He gives her a slightly uncomfortable look and Lily knows she’s not wrong in thinking that she’s the only one displeased with their new living situation.

Euphemia scowls playfully at him. “Hush,” she says, swiping his arm. “If I have taught you anything in life, James Fleamont Potter, it is that you are merely a prop when the women are speaking.”

Lily almost chokes on a laugh—Fleamont, really?—but catches it just in time.

James scowls.

“Are you staying for dinner?” Lily enquires.

“Please say no,” James mutters.

“Nonsense, I wouldn’t dream of…intruding,” Euphemia twinkles. “Now, I want to hear from Lily. I’m _ever_ so thankful to you for taking over the lease—really James you should have read it more thoroughly, I raised you better than to be a moron—”

“Mum!”

“—and Lily, I’m sure your parents are grateful you’re out of that dodgy place you were in. This is much better isn’t it?” She beams toothily and gives them the Look, that maternal gaze of ‘everything is just how it’s supposed to be and I orchestrated it all’. “So, Lily, darling, how is everything going? _Wonderfully_ I’m sure.”

James looks like he wants to protest, but there’s something razor sharp behind Euphemia’s smile and Lily’s feels, suddenly, sickeningly, that she has been outmaneuvered.

James looks like he’s come to the same realization as they look at each other and for the first time in the 24 hours they’ve known each other they’re in agreement, because _no one_ says no to Euphemia Potter. So they look at her dazzling smile and lie their arses off through clenched teeth. “Just fine,” Lily says.

“Going well, Mum,” James says, though he looks like he’s swallowed something sour and Lily knows he would rather be anywhere else than here. She knows because it’s exactly what she’s feeling.

Euphemia’s beam turns even brighter and more cunning. “Just as I thought.”

~

Lily lies on her bare mattress that night and resolves to be an adult about this.

So far, James hasn’t done anything particularly bothersome (well, nothing she can rationally be mad at him for. His stupid bloody forearms don’t count) and she can handle his mates. Or have Mary handle his mates. She can do this. She has a feeling Euphemia will ship her off to Switzerland if she doesn’t.

It’s way better than her last flat and she can live with boys. She can.

* * *

**Day 5**

“Toilet seats, James! They’re meant to be _sat_ on—”

“Well, not if you’re a bloke trying to take a piss—”

“I’m not a bloke, if you haven’t _noticed_ and I don’t fancy having my arse fall into the toilet bowl every time I sit down to relieve myself!”

“Maybe if you _looked_ before you plunked your arse down like a normal person—”

Lily grabs the nearest object—a dog eared phone book from 1976—and hurls it at his stupid head.

But James, football player that he is, grabs it out of the air before it makes contact and glares at her. “Oy! No throwing things! We have a rule, Evans.”

“Well, there’s also a rule about _cleanliness_ and general _decency, _Potter!” Lily spits, glaring back just as fiercely as they face off in the living room. “And I don’t see you following any of those, so I assumed it was a bloody free for all!”

They’re shouting and she knows the neighbors can probably hear them and will probably complain, but she can’t bring herself to care. It’s been a long, drawn out, _horrible_ lead up to this argument and she needs to have it out or she’s going to explode.

And James, she’s found out over the last few days, is excellent at ‘having it out’.

On her third day living here, he saw her watching Love Actually and mocked her endlessly for it, which ignited her thus far dormant argument switch (because no one disses Colin Firth) and she stormed off to her room.

Later that day, she was looking for a place to plug her hairdryer and accidentally unplugged his laptop. _You lost three months of work,_ he raged at her, which, yes, she felt awful about but then he started _yelling_ and hell if she wasn’t going to yell back.

Because shit roommates they may be turning out to be, but they are fantastic at yelling at each other.

He leaves dishes in the sink.

She leaves hair in the drain.

Rosa chews up her best pair of heels and she swears, she’s going to get revenge on this cat.

On the fourth day, Sirius and Peter use all her teabags and while she’s scolding them Rosa manages to sneak into her room and shed all over her clean laundry. Lily resolves to be calm about it and starts a load, but then James tosses in his darks and when she pulls out the laundry, her shriek echoes through the flat.

“_How_ can you put darks in a light load, James?”

“Well, I didn’t realize you had a dress that was bloody virgin Mary white—”

“You didn’t bother to _look_ at all, you giant arse—”

He is an arse, and an idiot. He forgets his keys _every fucking day_ without fail and he doesn’t know how to use fabric softener to save his life, he wakes up absurdly early to go ‘running’ of all things and one time he started shaving with a carrot because he got hungry and needed a snack. She’s torn between wanting to smack him or laugh at him or perhaps ask Euphemia just how many times James was dropped on his head as a baby, but that seems unnecessarily unkind to the poor woman. It wasn’t like she chose her offspring.

The only thing the idiot didn’t forget is that bloody cat of his. If bloody Detective Rosa Diaz’s food is even a second late he goes into panic mode.

After the laundry debacle they resolve to ignore each other and Lily manages to be on time for work for the first time since she moved in and is in a cheery mood until she arrives home on Day 5 and sees the toilet seat, which is the last fucking straw. The last fucking straw. (She’s started numbering this in her head, like she’s counting how many days she’ll last and she’ll get a sticker at the end, a ‘thank you for participating in hell’ consolation prize.)

Now, facing each other in the living room and glaring at each other as though their lives depend on it, Lily wonders slightly hysterically how her life got to this point.

James glares fiercely at her. “I have an exam tomorrow morning, and I’m not going to waste my night having a bullshit fight with you, Evans,” he snarls.

Lily’s jaw clenches so hard it’s a miracle it doesn’t snap. “Oh, I’m so sorry my company is such a _burden_ to you, Potter. You’re not exactly a fucking picnic yourself.”

“Well, if you don’t like it then maybe you should just move the hell out!” James yells.

“Maybe I will!” Lily snaps, glaring.

It’s an empty threat and they both know, but it feels nice to say. To pretend that she could just walk away.

They have to stick it out though, because they can feel Euphemia looming and it’s like she’ll pop up the moment there’s dissent, giving them a healthy dose of motherly guilt-tripping and big dark eyes and expensive French macarons, just enough to ensure they sit right where they are, smack dab in hell. She thinks absurdly of the Elvis Costello song, “This Is Hell” playing like a soothing funeral march as Euphemia Potter slowly saps her will to live.

Rosa ambles into the living room as they stare at each other and meows loudly. She rubs against James’s legs and slits her eyes at Lily. (She still hasn’t warmed up to her).

“I hate your fucking cat,” Lily tells him.

Ordinarily, this would be enough to set him off raging on her, but the argument has sapped both of their strength so he just frowns. “Whatever,” he mutters, scooping up Rosa. “I’m going to study.”

“Great,” Lily says acidly. “Just fucking great.”

* * *

**Day 17**

Lily never knew she had such self-restraint in her, and is feeling almost proud of herself that she’s managed to last this long, through cold showers (again), hellish mates, books strewn on the floor that she keeps tripping over and the occasional pop up from Euphemia, like a helpful elf doused in Chanel perfume.

“You’ve got a fit roommate,” Mary says when they go out for drinks with friends to celebrate Lily’s 26th birthday. She hasn’t really been into birthdays since her dad died so her enthusiasm is so-so. “What’s not to like?”

“You don’t have to live with him,” Lily shoots back. “He’s…ugh.”

She can’t find more words for it than ‘ugh’ though, because that would require going in depth into his personality and she’s made it her own personal rule that she will not find out more than is strictly necessary about James Potter.

Against her will though, that rule has been tested. In the two and a half weeks they’ve lived together she’s managed to find out he’s in his last year of grad school studying business, he played football in secondary school and still plays occasionally with his mates, he puts chocolate milk in his cereal, he’s blind as a bat without his glasses, he’s inordinately obsessed with his cat and very close with his mum. And other, little things, like he uses chamomile shampoo and he folds his socks and almost compulsively cleans the bathroom.

She’s getting to know him and she hates that, because it means that on some level he must be getting to know _her._ She doesn’t want him to know that she uses rose shampoo, or that her dad is dead or that she has an estranged sister who hates her guts and a working mother who really should be retired by now but can’t because she has to pay for Lily’s schooling tuition.

She doesn’t want him to know and doesn’t want to know _him._

But it’s ridiculously hard to keep the distance between them when they’re living five meters away from each other.

Besides these unnerving things, they manage to dance around each other after Day 5, sniping when they run into each other or one of them does something particularly annoying and generally trying to live their lives in peace.

Lily is lying on her bed in her room (_finally_ set up) and texting Mary late at night when there’s a thud from the living room.

Assuming it’s Rosa (she’s taken to knocking things off the dining room table, no matter how many times James looks her in the eyes and insists that she learn to behave herself) Lily ignores it, but a second later, there’s a second thud and then footsteps in the flat and a low voice cursing.

James had gone out earlier with what she assumed was the intention to get pissed with his mates, so she hadn’t expected him home at all.

She was _not _going out, she resolved. She wasn’t going to deal with him all stumbling and drunk and blur the line in between them even further.

Or at least she wasn’t until a second voice joined his.

“Oh, James,” a voice gasps, a decidedly _female,_ breathy and on the verge of moaning voice.

_Oh bloody hell no._

James’s voice murmurs something and there’s a giggle, then a thud against the wall. _Her_ wall.

“Careful, or you’ll fall over,” the girl says. She does that infernal giggle again, then moans. “Oh, I knew you’d be good with your fingers—”

Oh, there is no way in fucking hell she is listening to this.

Lily is furious suddenly, blindingly, red-tinted vision raging and she throws her phone onto her bed and gets up before she knows what she’s doing.

There’s another thud against her wall and a long moan and Lily shoves open her door with a furious bang.

Furious, furious, _furious._

For a moment she’s taken aback by what she sees, even though she knows she shouldn’t be. The girl—blonde and wearing a dress so tiny it looked more like a top that she’d squeezed herself into through force of magic—was pressed up against Lily’s wall, James pressed up against _her_ and they were—

“What the fuck.” Lily’s angry voice rings through the hallway.

They jerk apart (the girl screams softly and jumps back) and James gapes at her. “Lily?” he says, as if he can’t quite believe it. He doesn’t look too drunk, but he’s got a hazy, intense look on his face that would make her want to shiver if she wasn’t so pissed off. “What are you—”

“No, that’s my question,” she snaps, crossing her arms over her pajamas. “It’s two in the morning and I have work tomorrow and I will not be kept up all night listening to you and miss-whatever here shagging each other!”

The girl lets out a _meep_, her face red and Lily feels slightly bad about that—it isn’t the poor girl’s fault—but then James’s face switches from confused to angry. “I can do whatever the hell I please,” he snaps. “It’s none of your fucking business!”

Lily lets out a sharp, bitter burst of laughter. “It’s my flat too,” she reminds him. “I live here, and therefor it is my business.”

“Well, I’ve lived here two years longer than you, and this was never a problem before,” James growls. “Sirius—”

“Oh, don’t get me started on Sirius,” Lily spits. “That fucking best friend of yours is getting on my last nerve. I don’t give a fuck about what single, bachelor, shag happy life you had together, he doesn’t live here anymore and I do, which means that some of my rules have to be followed.”

James’s face colors with anger. “_Some_ of your rules? Don’t give me that bullshit, Evans. You’re a little fucking dictator, trying to impose your will on everyone else. The only rules around here—”

“Uh, I’m just going to go,” the girl speaks up, edging away. “James…I’ll see you around.”

James twists to look at her, surprised, and Lily knows she wasn’t the only one who had forgotten she was there.

“Yeah, okay, bye,” James says, already turning back to glaring at Lily. “And another thing—”

“Oh, ‘another thing’. God save me from another thing!_ You’re_ another thing, Potter!”

She can’t help but notice how his face flushes when he’s furious and envision what it would be like for him to pin _her_ up against a wall (infuriatingly easy and fucking perfect she imagines, then hates herself because she _shouldn’t imagine this stuff especially when she’s yelling at him_.)

“Well, this isn’t any of your business!” James shouts.

Lily takes a step forward and shoves a finger into his chest. “It is when you’re shoving girls up against the wall and waking me up!”

James glares. “I can shove whoever I please up against _whatever_ I please!” he growls, his face alarmingly close to hers. She can pick out the shades of green and brown in his eyes and that growl…

Fuck, if it doesn’t do something to her and that pisses her off more than anything else.

“Well, not _here.”_ She gestures wildly with her arms. “_This_ is my wall, okay? It’s _mine._ I’m paying half the rent, I have half the flat, and this is _my wall._ So from now on, the only person whose getting shoved up against this wall is me!”

She’s panting now and glaring so hard her hot face feels like it’s going to get stuck that way and James is staring at her, silent for the first time since they’ve started this argument and his eyes dart down to her mouth for a split second before going back to her eyes. It’s a split second, but with her words ringing in the air and the wall behind her it feels impossibly significant.

“Well, isn’t that just fucking perfect,” James says after a minute. “Just perfect, Evans.” His words are acid, but the ire behind them has shifted slightly and Lily doesn’t want to look at that shift.

She just glares at him. “It is,” she snaps. “If you want to shag half of London, be my guest. But you will not do it in my flat.” She turns around and storms into her room before he can answer, slamming the door behind her.

Lily’s shaking a bit and her face is burning. She absently presses her hands to her cheeks, feeling the heat. _What the fuck,_ she thinks. _What the fuck._

Her phone dings and she looks down to see she has tons of unread messages from Mary.

**Mary MacDonald (2:03 A.M.): ** _Hey, we should do that Chinese takeout thingy again. Watch Fifty Shades and mock all their ridiculous sex poses._

**Mary MacDonald (2:16 A.M.): ** _U still here?_

**Mary MacDonald (2:21 A.M.): ** _u know if u fell asleep and ur ignoring me for something as trivial as REM cycles I will never forgive u_

**Mary MacDonald (2:25 A.M.): ** _Lilllly_

**Mary MacDonald (2:29 A.M.): ** _I will text your ex and tell him you want to hang out_

**Mary MacDonald (2:32 A.M.): ** _actually wait do u have Benjy’s number ? i deleted it from my phone in a fit of rage after your disastrous break up_

**Mary MacDonald (2:32 A.M.): ** _TWO YEARS AGO_

**Mary MacDonald (2:33 A.M.): ** _u need to get laid babe _

**Mary MacDonald (2:33 A.M.): ** _seriously_

Lily’s face is still burning, but she texts Mary back.

**Lily Evans (2:36 A.M.): ** _Sorry, fell asleep. Gonna turn in now—work in the morning :(_

**Lily Evans (2:36 A.M): ** _Not addressing the preposterous claims in the other texts_

**Lily Evans (2:36 A.M): ** _but yes to the chinese/fifty shades/mocking thing. tuesday your place?_

**Mary MacDonald (2:37 A.M): ** _Deal ;) Get some sleep bitch_

**Mary MacDonald (2:37 A.M): ** _and ur in denial_

Lily glares at her phone, because its easier than glaring at the thing she really wants to glare at. And much much easier than admitting that maybe what she wants to do isn’t glaring.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is where it starts to get NSFW...

**Day 20**

“Potter.”

“Evans.”

“It’s garbage day tomorrow.”

“It is?”

Huff. “Yes, I’ve set out the bins. Don’t leave your disgusting garbage all over the hallway again or I will neuter Rosa.”

“That’s—you can’t—illegal, cats are off _limits_—”

“Goodnight, Potter.”

“You’re not serious are you? Are you? … Well, joke’s on you, Rosa’s already neutered!”

The door slams.

* * *

**Day 22**

The water in the shower is hot, _finally_ and Lily feels a bit like bursting into song.

“Hallelujah,” she mutters to herself as the water pours down over her. She sighs and luxuriates in the feel. It’s been a good day, thank _God._ Dorcas loved the last piece she submitted and assigned her a political op-ed that Lily’s been dying to do since it was announced last week.

She managed to get off work early and James is out for a run (she hasn’t memorized his schedule, she’s just absently observant. That’s what she tells herself anyway) so she has the flat to herself and can relax in the shower for as long as she wants.

Maybe the water will be cold when James gets back, she thinks smugly, then feels bad. James doesn’t take up all the hot water on purpose, she’s realized—he doesn’t really do anything on purpose. He floats through life with that careless, oh whatever is going to happen will happen attitude and that is (one of many) things that bothers Lily about James Potter.

When she thinks she’s soaked enough, Lily turns off the shower and steps out onto the tile, groping blindly for a towel. Her hand meets the bare bar and she squints open an eye, peering around the steamy bathroom.

No towels in sight, though she distinctly remembers putting a fresh stack on the shelf yesterday.

_James,_ she thinks to herself, her irritation increasing.

“Of bloody course,” she mutters, climbing out onto the slippery tile, hair dripping. The only thing she can find is a tiny washcloth and she scowls at it like it’s the source of all her problems.

“Of course this is all I have for a towel,” she continues griping, patting herself dry. “Of fucking course—”

There’s a distant thump and she freezes. “Hello?” she calls out.

There’s no response and then there’s a scratch at the door of the bathroom and she relaxes. Just Rosa.

Remembering the linen closet is in the hallway—why the hell one puts their towels _outside_ of the bathroom she will never know—Lily steps forward and pulls open the door.

Rosa hisses at her and Lily jumps back with a swear.

“Move,” she tells the cat, nudging with her foot.

Rosa arches her back and hisses again, giving Lily such a look of deep disdain and hatred that Lily almost flinches.

_Ridiculous._ It’s a cat.

She imagines Mary’s face if she tells her that a bloody _cat_ was blocking the doorway. She imagines what her face would be if someone else told her that.

“I just need to get a towel,” she says, a note of desperation entering her voice. She’s still soaking wet and naked and its cold in the flat and her skin is starting to get goosebumps. “Come _on—”_

Lily darts forward at the same time that Rosa yowls threatening and Lily darts around her, a triumphant cry breaking free as she careens into the living room—

And straight into James.

A very _naked_, sweaty, glasses perched crookedly on his nose James.

He lets out a shout of surprise and Lily shrieks, but her feet are slippery on the wood floors and the momentum is too much and they topple over.

Lily freezes for one, brief second as she stares down—down, because she is lying _on top of him,_ he’s naked and she’s naked and she’s on top of him, _oh my fucking god—_at James, and then she screams.

“What the hell!” James shouts as she scrambles backwards. His eyes dart down to her breasts and then lower, _lower_ and— “What the hell—why are you _wet?_ I don’t--”

“Don’t look at me!” Lily shouts back, lunging for the blanket on the back of the couch and wrapping it desperately around herself. “Don’t look---oh my god, you’re showing everything—”

He is showing everything and she can’t _not_ look because he’s right in front of her and fucking hell she’s seeing James Potter naked. He’s more muscular than that lanky form of his would suggest, but not so much that she feels like he’s going to rip off his shirt and go all Hulk on her. There’s a fine trail of dark hair that leads down towards the vee of his hipbones and her gaze is going further down like she just can’t help herself—

James grabs for an old raincoat, practically knocking a lamp off the table and wraps it around himself quickly.

“Explain yourself!” Lily seethes, her face burning red and her mind, oh fucking hell, the things her mind is replaying for her right now—

“_Me? _You—I—”

“Yes, explain yourself!”

“I was outside!” James snaps, gesturing wildly. His raincoat slips and he grabs onto it desperately. “I came back from a run and—I didn’t think anyone was home!”

“Oh, you didn’t _hear_ me?” Lily demands. “I was in the shower—”

“I had—” he gestures frantically to his ears, where she can see a pair of discarded earbuds. “What are you even doing _home?”_

“None of your fucking business,” Lily seethes. “I can’t _believe—”_

_“You_ can’t believe?” James shouts. “So you’re home and you just decide to _jump_ me out of nowhere?”

“I didn’t _mean_ to jump you,” Lily cries. “I needed a towel and your bloody cat was _attacking_ me—”

Rosa meows from the corner and James looks between the two of them. “It’s a _cat,_ Evans,” he tells her furiously. “A bloody cat.”

Lily lets out a bust of laughter. “That _thing _isn’t a bloody cat,” she snarls. “It’s a demon—she _hates_ me.”

“Well, she has excellent people senses,” James snaps back.

Lily’s face burns and she glares back as hard as she can, as hard as is possible without looking at where the raincoat is hiding what she’s just seen, what she now can’t erase from her brain. “You know what, _forget _it,” she seethes, getting to her feet, keeping the blanket wrapped firmly around her. “Go shower, you stink—”

James glares, turning around. “Yeah, fuck you, Evans,” he growls over his shoulder. “Nice job trying to kill us both—”

“I did _not—”_

The bathroom door slams.

Lily hits the couch and buries her face in the cushions, letting out a muffled scream.

Detective Rosa Diaz swishes her tail and ambles over, brushing against Lily’s legs for the first time since she’s moved in. She meows and Lily could swear that the cat almost looks smug.

* * *

“I just need to heat up my ramen,” is how Lily heralds her arrival into the kitchen that night.

James is cooking something—he likes to cook, she’s noticed—and he looks up quickly at her arrival. His hand goes to his hair and his cheeks turn a bit red.

Lily tries not to flush, but with her redheaded genes its an all but impossible task and she knows she must be tomato red.

“That’s—uh, go ahead,” he says, fumbling his words and clearly avoiding her gaze—and looking at anything below her neck.

Lily’s heart pounds and she wants to die. The anger and shock from earlier has faded—for both of them—leaving in its place an all-consuming humiliation.

He saw her _naked. _(She saw _him_ naked and he was so much better and so much worse than she’s ever thought and she can’t even believe she’s been attracted to other men who didn’t look anything like him—didn’t look nearly as good—but she’s focusing on the first fact because if she thinks about the second one she’ll break).

Shit, shit, shit.

Lily moves to the microwave and punches in one minute.

The low buzz of the microwave is the only sound as they stand on opposite sides of the kitchen, studiously not looking at each other.

James awkwardly runs his hand through his hair, making it even _more_ messy than before.

_Fuck._

The microwave dings and Lily practically lunges for it, beyond grateful for the distraction. Her ramen is hot and she searches for a spoon, but her mind has gone horrifically blank and she remembers the cutlery drawer is on the opposite side of the kitchen, where James is and there’s no way in _hell_ she can go near him now.

“Could you hand me a spoon?” Lily asks, trying desperately to keep her voice even.

James’s grip on his hair tightens. “Uh, sure.” He fumbles with the drawer handle. “Managed to lose most of our old spoons in a game of hide and seek with Sirius, so we got these ugly beige ones, but as long as you don’t mind nude—uh, that is, I mean—” his face is red and the spoon he’s holding—that is indeed a nude color—suddenly feels like a bomb. “I didn’t mean _nude_ nude—why would I? It was a total—accident, you know, and I didn’t really see—well I did, but—”

“Let’s just forget it,” Lily says forcefully. She steps forward and grabs the spoon quickly, making sure not to brush his hand. She glares resolutely. “Forget it,” she repeats. “It didn’t happen, okay?”

James is staring at her, a strange look on his face. His hand goes back to his hair and she wants to scream. “Uh, right,” he says. “Forget it—s’already forgotten.”

Lily nods tightly, taking her ramen and edging out of the kitchen. Those words should reassure her—its forgotten, just an embarrassing memory that makes her want to die—but it only makes her heart pound harder.

_Already forgotten._ Fucking hell, she wishes she could forget it.

Or maybe she wishes she couldn’t, that it’ll stay imprinted in her mind forever, exactly what James Potter looks like naked.

She’s not sure which option is worse.

* * *

**Day 23**

“You _what?”_ Mary’s cackle is so loud it makes the phone line pop and crackle. “You—” she can’t go on and Lily hears a sound like a whale in heat as her best friend dies of laughter.

“Shut up,” Lily hisses, face flaming and glancing around her. She’s sitting on the tube and Mary—obnoxious, _ridiculous_ Mary—is being so loud she’s certain everyone else can hear her. “Just…shut up, okay?”

Mary manages to gather herself together enough to choke out, “You had a Proposal moment!”

“I did _not_ have a Proposal moment.”

“He was out to get out his pent up frustration—probably sexual since you’ve moved in, my love—through exercise and he came home and didn’t know you were there and you collided, all naked and wet and bare—”

“I am not Sandra Bullock,” Lily snaps. “And James sure as hell isn’t Ryan Reynolds.”

“Well, obviously,” Mary says and Lily can practically see her rolling her eyes. “Ryan just couldn’t pull off those specs. But the muscles…”

“You are sick, you know that,” Lily hisses, her face still burning. She presses her cell closer to her ear and rhythmically zips and unzips her purse, trying to get out all her frustration. “Sick, sick, _sick—”_

“Did he look good?”

Lily almost zips her purse onto her hand and curses at the sting, but her face is so red that the pain pales in comparison to the embarrassment rushing through her. “I didn’t see any of that!” she splutters. She doesn’t know why she’s protesting—she’d just spilled the whole sorry affair to Mary—but she is and she will die on this hill. She’s nothing if not stubborn.

“You collided starkers with the bloke,” Mary argues (logically). “And no matter how fast he got that raincoat up, you _saw_ him naked.”

“Actually he’s the Flash, he used that super-speed of his to cover up.”

“Well, I didn’t know Barry Allen was so well-endowed.”

Lily chokes and her face goes ever redder if possible. “I never said anything about that,” she splutters.

“I could hear it in your voice,” Mary says smugly. “Also, you’re blushing.”

“You can’t even see me!”

“Your blush is so strong it transcends even phone lines,” Mary says confidently.

“It’s my stupid redhead genes,” Lily mutters, trying not to think about _why_ she’s blushing. Why she’s protesting so hard.

“Uh uh,” Mary says. “So, did he look good?”

Lily hangs up on her.

Alone on the tube, she takes a deep breath and presses her palm to her hot cheek. _Fuck,_ she thinks to herself, not really sure why. It just seems appropriate.

She says it aloud, testing it out and the mother with two little kids next to her gives her a dirty look.

Lily winces apologetically and drops her head into her hands, squeezing her eyes shut.

Mary’s off her rocker and way more invasive than any mate has a right to be, but she’s right about one thing. Because however cringeworthy and awkward and horrifyingly humiliating the experience had been, it does open Lily’s eyes to one thing. James Potter is exactly as fit as she’s imagined (and she’s imagined a lot. More than she’ll admit.)

She was heading home after shopping, but she can’t face James again today, so Lily gets off at the next stop and backtracks to her office.

It’s nearly 8 and the office is deserted when she gets there, but Lily heads to her desk and tries to drown herself in her latest article. It works to a certain extent—Dorcas has given her a bunch of notes that irritate the hell out of her because she knows it’s a really good article—but as the hours tick by and her tired eyes scroll across the screen of her laptop, her mind begins to stray to other things.

Which is simply unacceptable, because she is adamantly _not_ thinking about ‘other things’ right now. Or ever. Which might be a bit difficult to arrange since she lives with ‘other things’.

Her eyes grow more and more tired as she sits at her desk in the dark, only the flickering light of her screen lighting the quiet office room. The rhythmic tapping of her keyboard lulls her and before she knows it her head is resting on the hard surface of her desk, eyes slipping closed.

She’s pushing open the door to the bathroom, her bare feet quiet on the tile floor. The room is steamy and the mirror is so fogged up that she can’t see her naked form.

The air is warm, but there’s a small draft from the open door and she shivers as the cold air brushes against her, nipples peaking against the chill. And other things.

The shower is running and Lily draws nearer, a small smile forming on her face as she sees the familiar hand groping blindly for the shampoo.

_Blind as a bat,_ she thinks with amusement, pulling open the glass door to the shower.

“Need some help with that?” Her voice is rough and low, but she hasn’t managed to completely banish the amusement.

He freezes, water sliding down the curve of his spine and when he turns his head she can see the smile he’s trying to hide.

“That depends,” he says, twisting to look at her.

“On what?”

“On how much you object to getting dirty again,” he says and turns fully, water pouring over his head.

Any response she might have had to that—a moan, probably—is lost as she looks at him. The water is pouring down his chest, droplets sliding down lower and lower to the curve of his hipbones and she follows their trail, lower, lower.

His cock is already half-hard and the rush of that—that her presence is enough to do that to him—makes her take a step forward.

Her mouth is dry and her heart starts pounding. It shouldn’t—she’s seen him naked before—but it’s the power he has over her.

She lifts onto her toes and brushes her mouth over his. He leans down, trying to capture her lips, but she draws away, their lips just barely touching.

She wraps her hand around him, stroking once, twice, and he groans, his breath a hot burst against her mouth.

Lily’s lips curve and she places soft butterfly kisses on his jaw, his neck, down his chest as she lowers herself to her knees.

“Fuck,” he breathes, hand sliding into her hair. “Fuck.” He hisses and throws his head back as she puts her mouth on him.

Lily wants to smile, but that would break her concentration as she swirls her tongue around the head of him, hollowing out her cheeks as he starts to groan and gasp, his grip on her hair tightening.

She’s got every intention of finishing this like they have so many times before but after a few minutes he tugs gently on her hair, pulling her to her feet and kissing her furiously.

Lily kisses him back desperately, feeling his hand curve around her hip, brushing across her arse, drawing her closer. His other hand slides between their wet bodies and she breaks away from his mouth with a gasp as he slides a finger into her.

She’s already wet—fuck, she’s been wet all day, waiting for this moment—and the second and third fingers that he inserts go in easily as he pumps his fingers. She moans, throwing her head back and he leans forward, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along her neck.

Her skin is on fire and she can feel him hard and ready against her stomach. She can’t get enough air into her lungs as she moans, the only sound she’s able to make. It’s a jumbled mess, but his name is in there and when he hears it he groans, drawing her up for a kiss.

“You drive me mad,” he murmurs against her mouth, his voice so familiar and rough, the callouses on his hands sending shivers through her as he rubs her clit and she lets out a gasping, pleading moan.

“James,” she breathes, digging her nails into his back as she kisses him. “Fuck, _James—”_

“I love it when you say my name,” he mutters against her mouth. “Fucking Christ, Lily—”

She can feel her release looming, the tension rising higher and higher and she moans his name—

Lily jerks awake, her hand colliding painfully with her desk lamp.

_“Fuck,”_ she hisses, clutching her hand, but her heart is pounding, pounding and her entire body is hot and she just, she just…

She just had a sex dream about James.

About James Potter. About her _roommate._

Lily presses a shaking hand to her rumpled hair.

_Oh, fuck._

_Oh_, fuck.

* * *

**Day 26**

Here’s the thing—James doesn’t hate Lily Evans.

She just makes his life hard. Frustratingly, infuriatingly hard.

She’s been gone at work most of the week since The Incident and stays in her room when she’s home, which is fine by him. If she’s not there its easier not to imagine how soft her body felt against his. (Because he doesn’t imagine it, he doesn’t).

But maybe he’s just very good at denial because _something_ becomes obvious enough that when Sirius stopped by yesterday he left a Post-It on the fridge in his usual chaotic scrawl.

_Housemate Rule #37—no fucking the flatmate. _

_Just a little reminder for you, mate. Cheers – SB_

It’s crude and horrible (and just what you’d expect from Sirius) and James is boiling mad for three hours after he’s balled up the Post-It, thrown it into waste bin, decided it wasn’t secure enough and someone (Lily) might find it, tried to get Detective Rosa to chew it up (he’s still sporting the angry scratches from that endeavor) and finally puts it through a paper shredder.

He has his own rule—one crassly modified by Sirius—and he _doesn’t_ date roommates. Ever. (Imposed wisely by Remus after the whole Wendy #2 fiasco).

And this shouldn’t be a problem because he doesn’t even _like_ Evans. She’s bossy, demanding, doesn’t like Rosa, a smartarse, doesn’t like his cat and so what if she’s the most stunning woman he’s seen in a long time? (Ever.) He doesn’t get out much, he doesn’t have very high standards. Wendy #2 and her demonic voodoo doll collection. _And _Wendy #1 and her psycho sister. (Certain mates of his may refute this claim and say he is notoriously picky about women and that he’s admitted that he’s fucking attracted to strong-minded, smart women, but James just tells those annoying voices in his head to shove it. They don’t know anything. This is different. Obviously.)

James grabs a pot from a high shelf as he stands in the blissfully empty flat on Friday night, ready to relieve his stress with some cooking.

Graduation from uni is just around the corner and that means he has to start considering what he actually want to _do_ with his life because he got a degree in business like the useless sod that he is and where the bloody hell is he supposed to go from there…

Rosa yowls and butts her head against his legs.

“You’re right,” he tells her. “No use thinking about that now.”

Rosa gives him a look.

“And I’m not thinking about _that_ either, simply because there’s nothing to think about,” James says firmly. (Stupid, _stupid_ Sirius and his fucking stupid Post-Its). “Just—its—okay?”

Detective Rosa knocks over a vase with a contemptuous look.

James manages to get forty minutes of deep, cleansing peace before he’s barged in on and laid siege by an incoming army. (It was 39 minutes longer than he thought he’d last in all honesty).

The one-woman army in question must have been taking stealth lessons because James doesn’t notice her until she’s behind him and plucking the spoon from his hand with one delicately clawed hand.

“You call _that_ chana masala?” his mother tuts, whacking him with the spoon as she looks over his dish. “Darling, I raised you better than that.”

The initial start of her sudden appearance is wearing off and James scowls at her as he grabs his spoon back. “Well, maybe if you’d properly focused on teaching me instead of groping Dad beneath the table,” James sulks.

His mum adds a spoonful of cumin and something green he doesn’t recognize with all the dramatic flair of a symphony conductor. “How do you think you were created, my love?”

“The stork. Or whatever equivalent brown people have.”

“Well, that’s just denial, dear. Are you in denial?”

James sets his spoon down forcefully. “Why are you here, Mother?”

He’s being testy and he knows it, but he still hasn’t entirely forgiven her for the whole ‘springing a new flatmate on him without any warning’ thing and her presence is just reminding him of Evans and how not five feet away he collided with her and—

His mum turns and gives him that all-teeth, full out dazzle smile. “Can’t I come visit my favorite son?” she asks innocently.

“I’m your only son.”

“Isn’t that what I said? Don’t mention that to Sirius, though.” She settles atop a barstool. “So, how’s _Lily_?”

It’s the way she says her name that makes it click for him. All long vowels and innocent cheer masking a gleeful, evil plan. It’s the same tone she used to talk about Sadie Hooper, James’s first girlfriend when he was fifteen. It’s her _matchmaker _voice.

James drops his spoon. “No,” he says. “No. _No.”_

Euphemia looks innocently at him. “No what, dear?” she asks. “Do use your words.”

James glares. “_No,_ Lily,” he says. “I knew you had ulterior motives in making her move in!”

His mum presses a hand to her chest, eyes wide and innocent. “_Make_ her move in?” she says. “I offered her a place and she accepted. Really, James, the girl does have free will, you know.”

“No one has free will when it comes to you,” James snaps.

“Well, obviously,” she says, settling down. “How could I in good conscious let my lovely son flounder when I could steer him the right way?”

“If by ‘right way’ you mean _completely and totally take control of his life_, then sure.”

Euphemia clicks her tongue. “Really, darling, you’re being a tad dramatic here,” she says.

“_I’m_ dramatic? Says the woman who once ordered an actual float to celebrate her wedding anniversary,” James says petulantly, crossing his arms and glaring.

Euphemia cuts her eyes at him. “Lily is a lovely girl,” she says delicately. “A perfect flatmate.”

James’s head is starting to hurt. “Perfect might be a bit of a stretch,” he says through gritted teeth.

“Hm,” is all Euphemia says. She looks at him innocently. “Lily is very pretty.”

(he knows)

“—and smart—”

(he knows)

“—and likes cats—”

(he _knows)_

“—and single.”

(he did not know, didn’t want to know, doesn’t want to think about it)

“Why are you here, mother?” James snaps, moving the chana masala off the stove. It’s burned. _Of course._

Euphemia just sparkles at him and hops off the stool. “Relationships take work, my dove,” she says, patting his cheek. “Any sort. You have to be willing to bend.” She blows him a kiss and practically dances backwards. “Come home and visit soon!” she calls over her shoulder. “Bring Lily, if you’d like.”

Before James can respond to that—with _no fucking way in hell _most likely—she’s shut the door and taken her perfumed silk scarves, diabolical plans and far-too knowing comments with her.

* * *

At 8 o’clock Lily comes home from work and James tries not to notice how she looks exhausted and her hair is coming loose from its plait, little strands of red curling around her face.

James is still standing in the kitchen, having decided to give up on the decidedly charred chana masala and just make curry.

Lily ignores him completely as she walks across the living room, and James watches her as she opens the door to her room, then closes it with a snap.

It feels very final, somehow.

Fifteen minutes later the curry is ready and James is about to plate it up when he hesitates, glancing towards Lily’s closed door.

He thinks about his mothers meddlesome, irritating—true—dramatic words. _Relationships take work._

Detective Rosa butts his legs and meows accusingly. Her yellow gaze is condemningly judgmental and she meows again.

“Okay, okay,” James says and grabs a second plate.

He knocks tentatively on her closed door, feeling absurdly nervous for some reason—_for fuck’s sake, it’s just food—_and shifts his weight from foot to foot.

There’s no answer and he listens for a second, hearing nothing behind the door, then knocks again. There’s still no answer and he’s still practically fucking prancing from nerves, so after another minute of waiting he just pushes open the door, saying, “Lily, do you want some—”

The first thing he notices is that her room is impeccably clean, and she’s replaced all of Sirius’s Metallica and Sex Pistols posters with frames photos of her with various people, a few antique prints and a tall dresser.

The second thing is that Lily _is_ still in her room and hasn’t darted through the fire escape a la James Bone. She’s lying on her bed, shirt unbuttoned and rucked up around her waist, on her back, legs spread (what an odd position is his first thought).

Then he sees her hand between her pale thighs, fingers working herself, the curve of her knee just blocking his view, a low gasping noise coming from her throat as she throws her head back—

James freezes and his brain stops working.

_“James!”_ Lily jerks backwards, face going red, her hands immediately going to cover herself. “What the _fu—”_

“I’m sorry!” he shouts, coming back to life and stumbles backwards. He hits his head on the lintel, shouting apologies, his brain malfunctioning and replaying that scene over and over again in his head—

_“Get out!”_

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry—I was just—there was curry—”

The door slams.

James stumbles back over to the kitchen in a daze, his head malfunctioning. She was just—and he saw her—and she—

He’s still in shock when she storms out a moment later, her face still red, now fully clothed.

James’s entire body flushes at the sight of her, but he manages to find his voice enough to say. “Where’re you—”

“None of your business!” she yells and her face is bright red and she can’t meet his gaze.

“But—”

The door to the flat slams.

James lets out a frustrated groan and drops his head onto the countertop. He’s upset, mad at her for a reason her can’t—doesn’t want to know.

Alone in the kitchen he can’t help but think about the way her head tilted back and her breasts and the freckles he glimpsed on her thighs and the low, gasping noises coming from her mouth and how it would feel to be the one to _make_ her make those noises…

Detective Rosa hisses.

“I know,” James mutters, voice muffled.

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._

And he’s still thinking about it because he’s a fucking wanker and he respects women but he can’t control where his brain is going and---

He’s hard but he’s pissed off and he won’t give into the urge to wank. That’s too much of an arsehole move and he’s already done that with her face accidentally in his mind too often and he can’t quite justify it to himself when he just saw her like that.

* * *

“And he just _walked in?”_

“Yes!” Lily practically shouts, throwing herself onto Mary’s couch. Her face is still burning even though it was an hour ago and her heart is fucking pounding. _Hell, hell she can’t believe that just happened._

Mary throws her hand in the air. “Well, why didn’t you lock the door?” she demands.

“I _thought_ I did,” Lily retorts. “But it was a long day and I was tired and I’ve been having these _dreams _every fucking night for the last two days and it drove me to the bloody edge and I just had to—” She gestures wildly.

Mary raises a hand. She’s managed to procure a glass of wine, but Lily is too on edge even for drinking. “Hold the phone. You’ve been dreaming _about him_ for the last two days?”

Lily glares. “_Yes,”_ she bites off. “Unwillingly.”

“And you masturbated while thinking about him,” Mary says.

Lily’s face burns, but she nods grudgingly. _Fucking hell, what has gotten into her._

Mary takes this in for a second, then snorts.

Lily glares. “This is not funny,” she hisses.

Mary snorts again, the hand holding her glass of wine shaking. “It—” She cackles, the red liquid sloshing. “Oh, this is too good,” she says, wheezing.

Lily hits her. “It is _not_ good!” she snaps. “It is a _disaster,_ Mary. Do you hear me? A _disaster.”_

“Come on, Lil—you’re attracted to him and he’s _obviously _attracted to you—”

Lily’s faces flames. “You don’t know that!”

“You said he just stopped and stared.”

“He was caught off guard!”

“There’s ‘caught off guard’ staring, Lil, and _gawking._ He was gawking.”

Lily bunches the pillow in her grip. “You weren’t even _there,_ you meddling minx!”

Mary raises a hand and continues pointedly, “_And_ you told me that he randomly changed the time of his morning run so he always _happens_ to come home right as you’re getting out of the shower and he can see you all wet and glistening and you know that he’s doing it because of you and because you’re a dirty little tart and desperately want to have sex with this bloke, you conveniently started using shorter towels and ‘forgetting’ to bring your clothes into the bathroom just so you can see him gawk at your tits.”

Silence.

“There,” Mary says smugly and pours more wine. “Problem solved.”

“No, problem _not_ solved! Even if all that is true—and I’m not saying it is, mind you—but even if it _is, _it still doesn’t change the fact that he’s my _roommate._ I can’t shag my roommate. Also, he’s very annoying.”

“That last bit was not even remotely convincing,” Mary observes, “but we’re not going to concentrate on that right now. Lil, this is not a marriage proposal. I’m not even asking you to date the bloke. You’re both adults—reasonable, consenting, rather fit adults—and there’s nothing wrong with walking up to him and asking if he’d like a stress reliever. He’s a single bloke and you’re a single bird and you’re both clearly mad with desire for each other, so just fuck and have fun.” She takes a sip of her wine. “I know this is very difficult for you, my love, but don’t make it more complicated than it has to be.”

Lily opens her mouth to retort, can’t find words, closes her mouth and stews, glaring.

Mary sees the fight filtering out of her and smirks smugly. “Good girl,” she says approvingly, patting Lily’s knee. “Now come along, love, and go back to your flat and tell Mr. Fit-and-Fabulous that yourself.”

Lily hits Mary with the pillow, but can’t stop herself from mulling over her words as she takes the tube back to Notting Hill.

Mary is mental at the best of times, but underneath all of her drunken crudeness and flamboyant hand gestures, there _is _some solid, sound logic.

_Don’t make it more complicated than it is._

It’s almost midnight when she arrives back at the flat and she opens the door cautiously, but when she steps inside the living room the light is still on and James is standing in the kitchen, cleaning.

He looks up at the sound of the door and flushes at the sight of her.

“Uh, hi.” His hand jerkily goes to his hair and he gives her a strained smile. His cheeks are red.

Lily waits for the feeling of humiliation to wash over her at the memory of earlier—and it does, to a certain extent—but maybe it’s the wine that Mary had plied her with or the late hour or how James’s glasses are crooked and he swipes a hand through his hair nervously, looking like a total dork, but the feeling doesn’t come.

James shifts uncomfortably, hand going from his hair to tap on the counter, back to his hair and then sliding awkwardly into his pocket. “There’s um, curry,” he says. He avoids her gaze. “If you want.”

That, ridiculous as it is, makes up her mind.

He’s still blathering on as she draws closer. “It’s a bit cold, but I can heat it up, you know—with the gas—I mean the stove, well the stove is gas, but obviously I wouldn’t be cooking with gas itself—”

Lily hooks her fingers into his collar, drags him down and kisses him.

James freezes for a split second, his mouth unresponsive beneath hers and she feels the beginnings of panic—bloody hell, what if Mary was wrong—but then his arm snakes around her back, pulling her closer, and he kisses her back.

And he’s kissing her and kissing her and…

It’s…bloody hell, she can’t even describe it.

How she had ever kissed any other bloke when they couldn’t do even a fraction of what he was doing with his lips and his hands gripping her back, sliding up to slip into her hair…

He’s kissing her, then suddenly he’s not.

James jerks away, breathing heavily, his cheeks flushed. His hair is sticking up and she wants nothing more than to comb her fingers through it. “No,” he says though, his voice hoarse. “No.”

Lily’s heart plummets. “No, what?” she says.

“I don’t—I can’t—” James grips a tuft of his hair, face hard. “I have a rule,” he says finally. “I don’t date flatmates. It’s just—it’s too—”

“I don’t want to date you,” Lily says bluntly.

That shocks him into silence and he blinks at her. “You don’t?” He sounds almost offended.

Lily shakes her head. “Relationships—I’ve done them before.” _Definitely done them. _“They’re messy and complicated and—for me—always a complete mess. I don’t want that with you. I just want…” she searches for the right word. “Fun,” she says. “Fun. No strings attached. And if it gets weird, I promise I’ll move out and pay out the remainder of my half of the lease.”

It’s _completely _and _totally _nuts, but her blood is thrumming and she remembers the way he looked when he saw her touching herself—like he wanted to devour her whole—and she thinks she’d do anything to have him kiss her again and suddenly it doesn’t matter.

They stare at each other, breath mingling and she has no idea what he’s thinking, if he’s as far gone as she is.

But then he leans down and crashes his lips to hers.

* * *

**Day 27**

The one good thing about being in grad school is that James can get away with being at home most of the week. He can spread out in the living room, eat takeaway, study for his exams, watch Disney movies, pet his cat and contemplate how he snogged his flatmate last night.

_More_ than snogged her. Lily kisses like she fights—furiously and with nothing held back. With her, even a simple heated snog becomes…something else entirely.

James rereads the same passage in his textbook for the nineteenth time and finally gives up, groaning and collapsing back into the couch.

_Fucking hell._

He and Lily hadn’t had any time to discuss…well, anything, last night after they…came to their agreement. She was working early and James meant to wake up early to catch her before he left but he forgot his alarm and now he’s stuck sitting here, watching the clock steadily tick closer to six o’clock like the pathetic, stalkerish, miserable sod he’s become since Lily Evans walked into his life.

James scowls bitterly at his textbook. Stupid business, stupid school, stupid everything. _Fucking hell, how long does it take for that stupid hand to move past the five?_

His phone rings and James veritably lunges for it. “Hello?” he says quickly into the receiver.

“Darling!”

James’s posture immediately slumps. “Oh. Mother.”

Detective Rosa looks at him with clear disgust and James agrees with her. He’s _pathetic._

“Were you expecting someone else?” his mum inquires with barely veiled glee. “Someone…closer?”

James scowls even harder. “No,” he says. “No, I wasn’t. What’s up, mum?”

His mum has apparently called to give him a rapid fire update on all the latest gossip at home and even though it’s a welcome distraction, something about the tone of her voice is both knowing and smug.

And even though there’s _no way_ she can know about last night, James somehow gets the feeling that she does because his mother defies time and space and he has a feeling that even Fate (crappy and cliché as it is) would bow to her perfume scented wishes.

“Send Lily my love,” she says innocently and he can practically see the gleam in her eyes.

James squints one eye shut. “I despise you,” he tells her, because he will not admit that his mother has actually done something right for him. Possibly. He’s not sure yet.

“Well, you can discuss that with me in family therapy in thirty years,” Euphemia says cheerfully. “We’ll be just like the Kardashians.”

“Except without the gross showing off of wealth and privilege and no concept of how the actual world works.”

“That’s a bit harsh, darling, reality television does take a bit of savvy.”

“Mum, please don’t talk Kardashian to me,” James begs. “I am aware of your all-encompassing love for reality television, but is this really the time to torture your son with it?”

“It’s always time to torture you,” his mum says. “I’m getting back at you for all that pain you caused _me_ during labor.”

“What’s the ratio we’re going with here?”

“6-1,” she responds promptly. “I’ve got _at least_ eleven more years of torture before we’re even.”

“I don’t think that math checks out.”

“Of course it does, darling.”

“How did I get 50% of my DNA from you?”

“Three Molotov cocktails, a charity function and an empty supply closet,” his mum declares. “Give Lily a kiss for me! Ta!”

And with her final ‘ta!’—he just got _ta’d_ by his _mum—_Euphemia Potter neatly seals his fate and hangs up on him.

* * *

James is standing at the kitchen counter, staring at his textbook and trying not to burrow into a hole and never return until graduation has come and gone when Lily arrives home.

“Hey,” she says, closing the door behind her and kicking off her shoes. Her button-up is untucked from her trousers and it looks like she’s been running her fingers through her hair.

“Hey,” James echoes, standing up straighter. He feels the absurd urge to neaten his hair and squashes it. He tries again. “How was work?”

Lily shrugs, dropping her bag on the ground and ambling towards him. “Long,” she says with a sigh. She smiles wryly. “Not that I actually got much work done.”

James snorts. “Me either,” he says.

Lily hums and casually drops her keys on the counter. “So. I’ve been thinking.”

His mouth goes dry. “Oh?”

Lily nods. “We should make this interesting,” she informs him and it’s an effort not to kiss her right then. She props her hand on her hip. “We’re not going to have sex until you say we do.”

James can barely focus. “How is that interesting? My first offer would be now.”

But she smirks at him and his gaze unwillingly falls to the curve of her breasts visible through her blouse. She sees that and her smirk widens. “That’s what I thought you’d say. See, Potter,” his name on her lips makes him want to self-combust. “I don’t think you have enough self-control to resist me with only your own will to hold yourself back.”

She knows exactly what she’s doing, because she’s made it a challenge and his pride won’t let him back down now.

“What do you propose?”

She grins, reaches up and pops the top button on her shirt, steps back. “I’m ready to have sex whenever,” she informs him and he’s absurdly grateful for the counter between so she can’t see how obviously hard he is right now. He has a feeling she knows though. She pops another button. Takes another step. “We can do whatever else we want, but no sex until you give in. I want to see how far I can push you.”

Almost involuntarily, James steps forward, matches her step for step, backing into the hallway.

Lily keeps unbuttoning her shirt with every step and when she’s pressed up against the wall it’s hanging open, the black lace of her bra drawing his gaze straight to her breasts.

_Fuck._ This is so much better and so much worse than when he saw her naked.

James takes a final step into her, pressing her harder against the wall. His fingers brush her side and she shivers, swallowing. He follows the movement of her throat with his eyes, then trails his hand higher, fingers brushing her hardened nipple through the thin fabric.

Lily makes a low sound in her throat and her eyes flutter closed.

“And how far can you push me?” he whispers roughly, his voice guttural. Her back arches, her breathy voice calling to mind how she’d sounded she was touching herself. “As far as it takes,” she breathes. Then she ducks under his arm and is gone. 

* * *

**Day 30**

“I brought takeaway, you better be fucking grateful,” is how Sirius greets him at the door on Friday night.

James rolls his eyes. “I’m never grateful for you,” he says. “You put too much effort into making my life miserable.”

“How’s that?” Sirius asks, ambling into the flat.

“See: moving out and leaving me in a pile of shit.”

Sirius snorts. “Well, the way I hear it, that worked out pretty well for you.” His eyes dart towards the hallway, where Lily and her friend Mary are grabbing extra blankets.

James jerks to a halt and he blinks at Sirius.

Sirius grins and wiggles his phone. “You know what’s a crazy fucking coincidence,” he says. “That bird that Evans is friends with? MacDonald? We go to the same Pilates class. _Very_ interesting conversations we’ve had during leg stretches.”

James’s can feel his face starting to flush. “You—fuck you, mate,” he mutters, turning into the living room.

It’s not that big a deal—it’s just _Sirius—_but that he _knows_ Mary and they’ve been talking about him and Lily, and that Mary knows all of this in the first place…

All of a sudden, Mary’s suggestion to have a group movie night feels like a calculated ploy Euphemia Potter would be proud of.

“Hey, Black,” the manipulator in question says casually as she comes back into the room. They exchange regal nods.

Lily, walking behind her, blinks. “You two know each other?” she asks.

Mary beams. “Pilates-man,” she says to Lily. “He’s an arse, but he’s the only one in the class who can match my high kick.”

“Wrong,” Sirius says. “I can go higher than you.”

“Don’t talk shit, Black,” Mary says amiably. “Who wants wine?”

Lily rolls her eyes and walks over to put the blankets on the couch. She’s wearing a baggy T-shirt and shorts and her hair is down and that’s proving a distraction to him more than anything else.

It’s strange, James reflects, how three days can take up simultaneously no time at all and take eons.

Since her declaration, she hasn’t done anything especially overt besides walking past him fresh out the shower and narrowly collapsing his slowly debilitating mental health. She doesn’t even mention it—the only times she talks to him are when they’re out of clean towels or creating the shopping list.

It’s driving him bloody mad.

“What’re we watching?” Sirius asks.

“A classic,” Mary declares, fiddling with the DVD player. “The Breakfast Club.”

Sirius groans. “Fucking hell, no,” he says. “We’re watching Mad Max Fury.”

Mary makes a scandalized shriek. “Over my dead body! I’m not watching scantily clad women and boring arse men use their few remaining brain cells to ram themselves into burning buildings for two hours.”

“That is a gross—”

“Just do something else then,” Lily says, crossing her arms. “I’m not picky.”

Sirius gives her a dirty look. “I’m aware of your standards,” he mutters.

Lily doesn’t even blink. “Well, that probably says more about me than you since you’ve been cohabitating with such low standards for four years.”

“Five, actually,” James says.

Sirius’s lip curls. “Fuck you,” he bites off.

“Play nicely, children,” Mary says, wiggling her fingers.

“I’m always nice,” James objects.

“You’re always idiotic,” Mary returns.

“You don’t even know me.”

“I get a nightly report—I know enough. You need to do your laundry more often, by the way.”

“What the bloody hell does my laundry have to do with anything?”

“No one is going to shag you if you’re wearing briefs with bluebirds on them,” Mary says. “Especially if they’re dirty. Lily has certain standards, not limited to partner selection.”

“Don’t all birds?” Sirius mutters.

Mary doesn’t bat a lash. “Yes, and that is why you are still single,” she says primly. “And why Letitia Dunham turned you down yesterday.”

“How did—”

“I see all,” Mary says grandly, and pours herself a glass of wine.

“Is that why you’re an aspiring alcoholic?” Sirius asks bitingly.

Mary pats him on the check and plops herself down on the couch. “Well spotted, my love.”

“You’re all bloody mental,” James says.

“We’re watching The Godfather,” Lily says firmly.

James ends up sandwiched between Lily and a pile of pillows. He _was_ going to be next to Sirius, but then Mary declared that she needed a footrest and Sirius was the only one who has the firm leg muscles to hold up her dainty feet.

Lily rolled her eyes, but moved down the couch to sit at the end, then Mary plops James right next to her, kicks the pillows into a mound right in the middle and drapes her feet artfully across a scowling Sirius’s lap and presses play on the film.

It’s a slow, specific kind of torture, sitting there in the dark, watching the Italian mafia organize crime with Lily’s bare thigh just barely pressing against his leg and the angle just right to glance over and look at her profile every few seconds.

Lily doesn’t seem bothered by it in the slightest, absently eating handfuls of popcorn and occasionally snorting at Mary’s running commentary from the other side of the couch.

Then he feels her hand on his thigh.

James freezes, his eyes darting over to her. Lily’s face is blank, still watching the movie with what appears to be avid interest.

Then her thumb lightly presses into the fabric of his trousers. She doesn’t move it higher, just rests there, content to let it stew.

It’s barely a touch, but James’s mind goes blank. He can’t even hear the film anymore, all his concentration is centered on that hand.

Two can play at that game, he decides a moment later and pretends to reach for the popcorn cradled in her lap.

He feels her look down as he brushes the edge of the bowl, grabbing a handful. He drops it and curses lowly, glancing to see if Mary and Sirius saw.

They’re entirely focused on the movie—or at least Sirius is. Mary has somehow managed to steal his phone and is typing something with a gleeful look on her face.

“Sorry,” he mutters to Lily and goes to pick up the popcorn, his hand brushing her side as he chases a piece that fell into the cushions. His fingers slide underneath the hem of her T-shirt and he feels her stiffen.

James hides his satisfaction, finger dipping just beneath the elastic of her shorts.

A shaky breath from beside him and Lily shifts her position a bit. Her hand contracts on his thigh. Her eyes are still on the film, though.

James slips his hand into her shorts and realizes she’s not wearing any knickers.

That fact is enough to bowl him over, but then he goes a bit lower and he feels how wet she is and she makes a little gasping noise deep in her throat that erases everything around him.

He only meant to tease her, to brush her hip and retreat. But now…

Lily’s body is stiff and her eyes flutter closed as she shifts, legs parting further to give him easier access. Her nails are digging into his leg.

James presses lazy circles into her clit, turning his own gaze back to the film. He slides a finger down, just barely pressing in…

She lets out a low moan, then tries to disguise it as a cough.

James bites back a smile, keeping his hand slowly moving, trying to get her just as worked up as he is. He’s suddenly thankful for Mary’s tower of cushions and that she and Sirius can’t see what they’re doing.

It’s risky, mental and fucking hell, it’s turning him on so much.

Lily’s breathing is uneven and her eyes are squeezed shut.

James keeps his voice low. “Not enjoying the movie, Evans?” he asks, aware that the other two can hear them. He slides a finger inside of her.

Lily’s body jerks and she opens her eyes with difficulty. The hazy look in them almost makes him groan. “It’s fine, Potter,” she says, her voice breathless. James curls his finger and she sucks in a breath. Her eyelids flutter. “Just…” she clears her throat. “Just fine.”

James doesn’t even bother to hide the smug look on his face. “I’m glad,” he says quietly and pumps his finger, once, twice.

Lily bites her lip, an almost pained expression crossing her face. Her cheeks are flushed, her breathing getting heavier and heavier with ever stroke.

James curls his finger, never quite bringing her there, then almost, almost…

Lily’s hand is gripping his trousers so tightly her arm is starting to tremble and her head tilts back, lips parting in a silent moan…

“I’m going to get more popcorn,” James announces to the room, withdrawing his hand and standing up. He carefully angles his body so Mary and Sirius can’t see the evidence of what they’ve been doing.

There’s a gasping intake of breath from the couch and James can practically feel Lily’s furious gaze on his back as he walks towards the kitchen.

She’s going to get back at him for it somehow, but he doesn’t care.

* * *

**Day 32 **

“We’re completely out of milk,” Lily announces when he presses accept on her call two days later. “And ramen. And vegetables. And meat. And fruit. In other words, we’re completely out of everything.”

James, walking down the stairs after his Marketing tutorial, raises a brow. “What are you talking about? I just went shopping,” he says.

There’s a distant clang and her irritated voice pops and crackles through the phone speakers. “Well, your mates were here this morning and Rosa’s been hiding in my closet since I got home, so I’m assuming that has something to do with whatever voodoo ritual they pulled.”

“Oy, my mates don’t do voodoo rituals,” James says as he pushes open the door and steps onto the pavement in front of Imperial College.

“Really?”

“No, we tried one in year 13, ended disastrously—Sirius had to wear a wig for six months, which _was_ pretty bloody hilarious to be fair—now the only occult practices we mess around with are demon summoning.”

“Demon summoning,” Lily repeats.

“Yep. Easier than you’d think, to be honest. Here, meet me at Tesco’s down on Winston. We’ll replenish our stock of demon summoning materials.”

“Right, because we can’t live without those,” Lily says.

“Well, obviously. See you there, Evans.”

“Bye, Potter.”

Lily meets him with crossed arms and a smile she’s trying to hide behind a scowl. She’s wearing a lemon yellow sweater and the look she fixes him with is stern. “We’re going in and out,” she says. “No funny business, Potter.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Evans,” James returns and they enter the store.

James counts himself lucky that he and Lily only manage to get into three arguments between the front door and the cereal aisle, but the other shoppers don’t seem to share the same optimistic outlook judging by the dirty looks he receives as they argue over whole milk or skim.

“Skim is healthier,” Lily argues.

James clutches the whole milk bottle to his chest. “I will not back down,” he declares. “Whole is much deliciouser—”

“Not a word.”

“—and I will fight for this bottle with my dying breath.”

Lily huffs, but he can see she’s trying to hide a smile. “Fine, you arse,” she grumbles, putting her bottle back on the shelf. “Now move it.”

“I am moving it,” James returns, dropping his stance. “After I’ve finished fighting for God and country.”

Lily snorts. “God and country?” She side-eyes him. “You’re mental, Potter.”

“Mental, indeed,” James returns promptly.

Lily rolls her eyes—something she does all too often around him—but they don’t get into any arguments for the next two aisles so he counts it as a victory.

“Aha.” James grabs a bottle of pine cleaner and a banana from the shelf and holds them in front of him. “You know what these objects call for,” he informs Lily. “A puppet show.”

She raises a brow, pushing the cart down the aisle. “Oh, really?”

“Yep, and these two,” James glances at the objects and makes up his mind quickly, “long-lost lovers. _Yearning_ to be in each others arms.”

Lily snorts.

“Oh, Mr. Pine Cleaner,” James parrots, pitching his voice up high and wiggling the banana. “_Oh, _why do we have to part it’s _torture _when I can’t be with you—”

“Miss Banana, I know this sorrow,” he says, dropping his voice back down and raising the bottle. Lily is trying not to laugh. “Oh, that I can’t make love to you anymore—this tragedy ruins my heart—”

“What tender dialogue,” Lily manages to say, the laughter bubbling up. “What sweet devotion.”

“Oh, Mr. Pine Cleaner, touch me, _oh, _mm, _faster, _oh, _yes, _use your_—_”

Lily lets out a burst of laughter, then stops herself. “Shut _up,”_ she hisses, glancing around. “James, _shut up.”_ But she’s flushed with laughter and her eyes are bright.

James puts it down, grinning. “You’re right, this isn’t realistic at all,” he says. “I need to do that little gasping noise you make when you’re about to come.”

Lily’s cheeks flush, but she cuts her eyes at him. “How would you know?” she questions with an arched brow. “You’ve never managed to get that far.”

James smirks at her. “Trust me, Evans,” he says, tossing paper towels into the trolley. “When I’m trying to get you off, you’ll be screaming my name.”

Lily’s eyes narrow. “Or maybe you’ll be screaming mine,” she counters.

James grins. “Maybe so,” he says. “No way to know, is there?”

Lily shrugs. “S’pose not,” she says, turning around. “Fuck you, Potter.”

“If it weren’t for you, I would be.”

She gives him a pleased little grin over her shoulder. “Why do that when driving you mad is so much more fun?”

* * *

**Day 33**

James figured his somewhat tentative peace couldn’t last and is proven completely and utterly correct when he wakes up the next morning to a voicemail from his mother.

Her voice is innocent (cunning) and James listens to her go on and on about the latest drama at her book club and how the gardener beheaded a topiary the other day and how it scared the shit out of his dad…

“Oh, before I forget,” she tacks on at the end of all that nonsense, “It’s been _so_ long since you’ve come to visit me, darling, and while I’m up in London all the time I know your father misses you—you should come visit this weekend, my darling—”

“Okay,” James says aloud. “What’s the catch.”

“—and of course, you’d bring Lily with you. I’ve been _dying_ to catch up with her and Monty’s never even set eyes on the girl! I know she’d love to visit Cambridge—she’s such a clever girl and there’s all those libraries down by the university district. Maybe you could take her while you’re here. Anyways, love, I’ll tell Monty that you’ll be here Saturday afternoon and we’ll make up a spare room for Lily. Or perhaps not. Love you, darling. And give my love to Lily!” She loudly blows a kiss and the line goes dead.

James stares at his phone, the replay button blinking on the screen. He goes to his messages and presses on his mum, then blinks blankly at his room.

Detective Rosa butts her head against his leg and gives him a _look._

“I know,” James tells her.

It’s so obviously a ploy, so calculated, has ‘Euphemia Potter’ written all over it with a thousand red warning signs.

James says yes.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NSFW

**Day 34**

Lily is surprisingly fine with this new turn of events.

“Are you sure you’re okay with this?” he asks her for the millionth time as they pull into the driveway Saturday afternoon. “Because if you’re not and it’s weird that my mum is making us do this—have I mentioned that my mum is _making_ us do this?—then we can turn around right now. Seriously, right now, be back in London in an hour and a half tops—sooner if I break all the traffic regulations—”

Lily laughs. “We’re parking and I can see your mum in the doorway,” she says to him, peering out of the window where his mum is indeed all but jumping and clapping for joy and glee and meddlesome pride as they pull up. “It would be rude to turn around now.”

“Since when have you or I ever cared about rudeness? I’ll peel out of here doing 100 and you can direct my getaway car.”

Lily just rolls her eyes and unbuckles her seat belt. “You said yes,” she reminds him, reaching for her purse. “You dug your own grave here, James Fleamont Potter.”

James scowls. “I know it was a mistake to let you and my mother cohabit,” he tells her.

Lily grins charmingly. “Well good thing we’re about to spend two days in very close quarters with her then, hm? Now let’s stop acting like a bunch of arses and get out of the car.”

“I’m going to die,” James moans, reaching grudgingly for his seat belt.

“Quit whining,” Lily returns.

“I’m not whining, I’m _complaining,”_ James complains. “Two very, very different things. And made even more different because my complaining has fact behind it. My mother will kill me. She’ll kill me, sob crocodile tears at the funeral, serve excellent canapes and dedicate a gold statue in my honor. And it won’t even look like me. It’ll be the taller, fitter, more masculine James.”

“And very blinding,” Lily observes.

“Blinding in grief,” James says gloomily.

“Well, surely she’d do bronze instead,” Lily says. “Gold is pricey.”

“Nothing is too pricey for flamboyant effect.”

“Cheer up,” Lily says, patting him on the shoulder. “I’ll build you a nice regular statue after you die—one with your noodle arms and gangly knees and girlish jawline.” She glances down. “And excellent forearms. Though I’m afraid I’ll have to go with bronze, a solid gold statue is a bit out of my price range.”

“Don’t worry,” James says, turning the key. “You’re the sole benefactor of all my assets.”

“Oh?” Lily sounds intrigued.

“Yes, well, my mother would never let me die without marrying you,” James explains. “She likes you too much. So obviously she’d make us get an arranged marriage, personally ensure you get pregnant on the honeymoon—”

“Well, that sounds a fair bit invasive. I can’t properly be in the throes of passion with an audience.”

“—poison me with something untraceable, insert here the crocodile tears, canapes and not-true-to-life statue, and you’ll end up richer than the politicians,” James says.

“But then I’d be raising your child,” Lily points out. “Alone. University tuition, daily expenses—that money will go fast.”

“I’m hurt that you think our fortune is so trivial,” James says. “You’d be set for…oh, about seventeen or eighteen more children.”

“Good lord, James, give my poor uterus a break,” Lily says.

“Oy, it’s not me, it’s my mother.” James sighs, a grin pulling at the corner of his mouth. “You know, we could get out of here right now, before all of this unfolds and your uterine discomfort begins—” he starts hopefully.

“Nice try, now get out of the car,” Lily says, opening the door.

James groans, scowling at nothing, but grudgingly opens his own door and steps out into the driveway.

On the other side of the car, Lily frowns at their house. “Wasn’t your mum just standing in the doorway?” she asks.

James looks and sees that indeed, Euphemia and her waving arms have conspicuously disappeared.

“She’s probably just darted back into the house to make a grand first impression,” he says, going around to the boot to grab their stuff.

Lily hums and her lips twitch. “Strange family, this is,” she muses, then comes to help him.

James insists on carrying all the luggage to the door—Lily argues with him all the way—but is deeply regretting that by the time he gets to the fourth step. _Bloody hell, what did she pack in that thing?_

James has barely knocked once when the door swings open with alarming speed and Euphemia beams at them. “Darling!” she cries and opens her arms wide.

James steps forward to receive the hug, then watches with affront as his mum pushes past him and wrangles Lily into a tight embrace.

“Oh, it’s been too long,” she coos, squeezing Lily so tightly it’s a miracle she doesn’t pop. “Oh, let me look at you—stunning, as usual.”

“Hi, Euphemia,” Lily says into his mum’s hair. He can see that she’s grinning.

There’s a low chuckle and James’s dad steps into the doorway. “You know, I’m starting to get the feeling that they don’t really want us around,” he muses, eyeing the still hugging pair.

James agrees, and he scowls at the length of the embrace. “So nice to see you too, mum,” he mutters, miffed.

“Hush, you,” his mum says without releasing Lily.

“Hush you?” James repeats, turning to his dad. “Dad, she said _hush you—”_

“James, hush you,” his dad repeats, frowning sternly, but behind his glasses his eyes are twinkling.

James pretends to scowl.

Lily and his mum have finally separated—_bloody finally—_and Euphemia beams as she ascends the steps, pausing to pat James on the cheek. “Nice to see you, dear,” she tells him.

James scowls and knocks her hand away. “Now I know you’re just placating me,” he says.

His mum winks. “Whatever works, dear. Oh, Monty, this is _Lily.”_ She drags Lily forward by the arm. “Lily, dear, this is Monty, my husband. And James’s father, or so I’ve told everyone for the last twenty six years.”

His dad rolls his eyes. “Funny, Mia,” he says dryly, then smiles at Lily. “Lovely to meet you,” he says, extending his hand. “I’ve heard lots about you.”

“Good things I hope,” Lily comments, shaking his hand. She smiles. “It’s lovely to meet you as well. Thank you for having me this weekend, both of you—I’d hate to intrude.”

“Oh, nonsense!” Euphemia titters, waving a hand dismissively as though she hadn’t fought tooth and nail and manipulative war tactics to get the two of them down here. “It’s no trouble at all, my dove—just come on inside—yes, leave the bags there, James will get them later—Monty, I thought I told you to put the kettle on!”

“When, dear?” his dad asks innocently as James places their bags on the floor in the foyer. He can see Lily taking it in, the tall mahogany staircase, the stone floors and various portraits his mother has expertly hung. Even though they were just joking about fortunes in the car, he suddenly feels embarrassed at this house, which practically screams British elite.

Euphemia narrows her gaze at him. “You know I don’t like to be toyed with,” she informs him.

“Really, my love, I had no idea.” His dad winks at them.

Lily muffles a laugh.

Euphemia arches a brow. “Sarcasm will get you nothing,” she informs her husband, then claps her hands. “Now, let’s get you settled in!”

* * *

Lily had to hand it to her—Euphemia was good.

After she’d fluttered up the stairs to guide them to their rooms—“Mum, I grew up in this house I know how to get to my own _room.”—_she’d cunningly dropped James off at his, then opened the door next to it for Lily and casually informed them that there was a door connecting the two rooms so they needn’t go out in the hallway if they wanted to talk at night.

“What are you talking about, Mum,” James says. “There’s no door.”

Euphemia sparkles at them. “Oh, I had it installed ages ago,” she says, waving a hand. “Must’ve forgotten to tell you. Monty and I sleep on the other side of the house, too, so you’ll have plenty of…_privacy,_ Lily.” She claps her hand, beaming fondly. “Well, I’ll let you two unpack and get settled in. Dinner’s in forty minutes. Ta!”

Lily stares after her, then shakes her head, grinning wryly. “Subtlety is not a family trait, I see,” she observes, propping her hands on her hips and turning to look at James.

James’s lips quirk. “Sadly not,” he sighs. “We’re blessed in so many other ways, though, it’s hard not to be grateful.”

“And modest too.”

“Well, obviously, piety is the only thing that’ll get you into heaven.”

“Wouldn’t you have to become religious first?”

“According to my grandmother I’m a practicing Buddhist,” James says.

“Is this a shagging partner only fact?” Lily enquires.

James raises a brow, leaning against the doorway. “I don’t know if it can be qualified as such since we haven’t technically had sex yet,” he says. “But sure.”

“Semantics,” Lily declares and peeks a look into her _enormous _room._ Holy fucking hell, this house. _“I’m going to go shower now and just so you know if you burst in on me again I will put Detective Rosa up for sale on eBay.”

“First of all, _you_ barged in on _me,_” James says, raising a finger. “Secondly, you wouldn’t dare. Admit it, you like Detective Rosa now.”

Lily makes a face. “Liking implies a reciprocity of the feeling,” she informs him.

“It does not, but congrats on using the word reciprocity. You sound well and educated.”

“Thank you, Potter. I feel acknowledged.”

That gets a full smile out of him. “Don’t start talking Brooklyn Nine-Nine to me, Evans, or we aren’t going to make it to dinner.”

But Lily just shrugs, holds his gaze. “I have no objection to that.”

James swallows, his gaze darting down to her lips, then back to her eyes.

The seconds tick by, but even as his expression is strained, James doesn’t break.

Lily sighs, holding back a smile. It would be too boring if one of the caved now. “Your call,” she says. “I’ll see you at dinner.”

James’s eyes are still on her and the look in them makes her want to shiver. “See you at dinner, Evans.”

* * *

Dinners, James has come to realize over long years of experience As James Potter, are a recipe for the apocalypse.

So he is prepared for nothing short of pandemonium at the idea of Euphemia Potter, Lily Evans, his dad and him all at the same table.

This dinner, he is astounded to realize, is _not_ the apocalypse.

Or if it is, it is a very different kind of apocalypse.

“You really went swimming with sharks?” Lily asks eagerly, accepting more wine from his dad as she avidly listens to one of his stories. James has heard this exact one at least half a dozen times. “Wicked.”

“Oh, he makes it out to be drama, drama, excitement,” his mum declares from across the table. She’d cunningly situated them so he and Lily are on one side and she and his dad are on the other. “He won’t tell you how he squealed like a little girl when he saw the fins and I had to push him in.”

“I was getting to that,” his dad mutters. “And you are vastly over-exaggerating that scream. It was a…yell of manly fright.”

Euphemia eyes him over the rim of her wine glass. “If you are familiar with the Brady Bunch meme of Cindy going ‘uh uh, _bullshit’,”_ she says, “that is my face right now. Whatever you say, dear. Lily, more roast?”

James can see Lily trying to hide a smile.

For all that this trip is supposed to be him catching up with his parents, he’s spent very little of it thus far actually talking to them. Mostly, he’s just been staring at Lily.

It’s throwing him, though, the way she’s acting. Not that she’s doing anything untoward or weird, but that she’s so _normal._

He’s struck for the first time that that beyond sexy games, shouting matches and bathroom disasters, he hasn’t spent a whole lot of time around her.

Hasn’t gotten the chance to see her like this, laughing and smiling, chatting with his parents about work and her family.

She notices him staring during a lull in the conversation and makes a face at him. _What?_ She mouths.

_Nothing,_ he mouths back, aware of his mother watching. _Nothing._

* * *

James’s phone dings right as he’s getting into bed and James picks it up, mindlessly swiping to read the text.

**Lily Evans (11:57 P.M): ** _are you awake?_

Attached is a picture that makes him freeze.

She’s lying down in her bed, he can see her red hair spilling over white sheets. Her arm is curved to hold the phone, eyes half closed and a half-smile on her face, the sheets dipping just enough to make out the round curves of her tits. She is very clearly naked, and very clearly trying to kill him.

_Are you awake._

James is suddenly, exhilaratingly alert.

_Fucking hell,_ he thinks, knowing this is playing right into her game and not caring.

He can’t get to the door separating their rooms fast enough and before he’s even knocked it opens from the inside.

Lily lazily raises her brows. “See something you like, Potter?”

All of the blood in James’s body goes rushing immediately south. She’s leaning against the doorframe, arms hung loosely, wearing a tiny pair of knickers and nothing else. Bloody fucking hell he can’t stop his gaze from tracing her slender legs, her stomach, her fucking perfect tits, nipples peaked against the chill.

“Several things, actually,” he says, his voice rough.

A flush spreads down Lily’s throat but she holds his gaze. “Good,” she replies and steps back into the room. “Because you,” she says, drawing it out, “and only you,” her hand slips down, brushing her stomach as she slides her fingers over the lace that’s barely covering her cunt, “is going to be seeing it for the rest of the evening.”

James nearly comes right there.

He catches her hand as she turns, stepping into the room and drawing her up against him. “And what about after tonight?” he asks lowly. His other hand strokes her bare side, slipping around to press lightly against her arse.

Lily’s cheeks are flushed and her eyes bright as she says, “Well, I suppose that depends on how well you do tonight.”

“Lily Evans, are you insinuating that I am mediocre in bed?”

She pretends to think about it, the little minx, but her hand has started playing with the top buttons of his shirt. “Consider this a trial run,” she says with a shrug. She peers up at him through her lashes. “A…test drive before I purchase.”

James’s blood roars. “Test drive, hm?” he says. “I’ll show just how well I can _drive _you, Evans.”

Before she can reply, he’s caught her mouth with his own, kissing her deeply, passionately, furiously. His hands cup her arse as he maneuvers them backwards and she kisses him back with just as much gusto, hands gripping his collar as she arches against him.

He smacks her arse and she breaks away with a gasp.

“Why you—” she starts, face red, but her breath hitches as he smooths a hand gently over that same spot.

“Why I what, Evans?” James asks, nuzzling her neck and nipping lightly at her pulse point. It jumps. Their bodies are pressed together, her wisp-of-fabric-covered cunt rubbing against his aching erection. “Why I’m so bloody good at this? Comes with practice, don’t you worry.”

“Fuck you, Potter,” she snaps, but her fingers curl tighter into his shirt.

“That is the general idea,” James replies, unable to resist making her flush one more time.

She does, the blush spreading down her neck, and she grabs his face firmly, dragging him in for a punishing kiss.

It’s always like this with them, give and take, pushing the other as far over the edge as they can.

It’s the most dangerous, fun thing he’s ever done and hell if he couldn’t imagine having this with anyone but her.

Lily started the kiss with the upper hand but James is determined to win this round, so as she attacks his mouth he sneaks his hand between them, pushing aside the flimsy fabric of her knickers and finding her core.

_“Oh,”_ Lily gasps into his mouth as he circles her clit.

James smirks against her mouth, kisses her once more, then breaks away and pushes her up against the dresser. “Don’t move,” he tells her, breathing harshly and kisses the corner of her mouth, her cheek, down her jaw and trails across her neck and chest.

Lily makes a low, throaty moan, fingers clenching on the edge of the dresser, but stays still as James kisses his way down her body.

James doesn’t have the patience right now to draw this out as he settles on his knees, hooks his fingers in the waistband of her knickers and pulls them down her legs.

He holds them for a second—the thin fabric is positively _soaked_ and he wants to groan aloud—then drops them to the ground and nudges Lily’s knees apart.

Her legs part eagerly for him and she’s panting, looking down on him.

James presses a featherlight kiss to the inside of her thigh, right over one of those freckles, and she twitches. Her fingers clench. James’s tongue darts out, tasting the soft skin and the shuddering breath she lets out snaps any remaining patience he has.

His breath expels against her cunt and she whimpers, possibly the sexiest sound he's ever heard, and she throws back her head as he leans forward and puts his mouth on her.

Lily moans, her thighs clenching around his shoulders and James sucks lightly on her clit, holding her legs apart with one hand and using the other to easily slide one, two fingers into her.

He slides his fingers in and out of her, her wetness coating his fingers, tasting that same wetness on his tongue, trying to drive her slowly, tortuously, to the edge.

She’s gasping and writhing, but its not good enough for him and after a moment he replaces his fingers with his tongue, diving as deep into her as he can.

_“Fuck,”_ Lily gasps, hips jerking. “I—_oh—_James—_fuck—”_

James draws back, looking up at her admonishingly. “Lily,” he scolds. “Do you want to wake up the whole house?”

Lily’s face is flushed, her body trembling. “Fuck you,” she gasps out. “Fuck you, fuck you—” Her head falls back as he resumes.

He’d feel smug about that, but all his concentration is centered on driving her as mad as possible.

She’s so wet, practically sopping, her moans getting louder and louder and James reads the tension in her body easily. He eases his mouth away, kissing her thighs, then slides three fingers into her cunt.

Lily arches, a moan breaking free and James has to use his other hand to keep her hips steady.

“Easy,” he says against her skin, pumping his fingers faster. She’s tight and wet and better than anything he imagined and he can barely think while hearing those _sounds_ she’s making.

“Fuck,” she gasps out, hips jerking. Her breathing is heavy, panting. He increases the speed. _“Fuck—”_

James curls his fingers inside of her and she comes, gasping and shaking, her fingers digging into his shoulders.

James keeps his hand moving, prolonging her climax as long as possible, but when the only visible sounds are her panting breaths he pulls back, getting to his feet.

His fingers are glistening with her juices and he locks eyes with her and brings his hand up to his mouth. He sucks them off. “Hm,” he says. “Tasty.”

Lily pants. Her expression is half-wrecked, half-furious, but the heat in her gaze still makes him want to shiver. He’s got a raging hard-on, but a game is a game, and there’s a funner way to end this evening than a blowjob.

James smirks at her, hiding what exactly the sight of her sprawled there, legs open, completely undone, is doing to him.

“Night, Evans,” he says, swiping under her chin. “Sweet dreams.”

Then he turns and waltzes out of the room.

* * *

**Day 35**

_Oh, I just absolutely have to get my dry cleaning picked up today, _Euphemia fretted the next morning over breakfast, coy and pleased as a cat that caught the canary. _But I have to take a call from Esquire at noon…would you two mind _terribly_ running into town for me?_

Yes, James is learning, is a dangerous word.

Suddenly the dry cleaning becomes grocery shopping and banking and going to the florist and he and Lily are hustled out the door with a kiss goodbye and a list of tasks, then the door to his parents’ home slams in his face, leaving him, proverbially, on the road to el dorado.

“Except there’s no gold at the end,” he adds after he’s shared this thought with Lily. “Just chores.”

“Suck it up, you baby,” Lily returns as they enter the dry cleaners in downtown Cambridge. She hasn’t mentioned their interlude last night and he’s sure as hell not going to be the first one to bring it up, even if dreams of her had kept him awake all of last night. “I bet you’ve never had to do chores a day in your life. You were probably fed with a silver spoon by maids in little ruffly caps and sock-slid down your obscene ivory hallways.”

“Technically, it’s marble.”

Lily gives him in a look that tells him she doesn’t find his cheek amusing, then faces the man at the counter. “We’re here to pick up two suits for Euphemia Potter,” she says, holding up the slip.

“You mean the Devil?” James mutters. “Satan? The one who would sell her child for one corn chip?”

Lily pinches him.

“Just a second,” the bored bloke behind the counter says.

James has to admit—doing errands with Lily is considerably more fun than when he does them alone. She expertly finagles her way past the line at the bank, talks the store manager out of pressing charges after James orchestrated a light saber fight with a ten year old girl, and charms the florist so thoroughly the elderly woman sends them away with a free bouquet of roses.

“Lovely,” Lily praises, twirling the flowers as they walk down the street. She looks at James with a pleased grin. “See, _someone_ appreciates me.”

“I appreciate you,” James says. “I’d just appreciate you more naked.”

Lily hits him with the flowers, which hurts, but then she laughs and offers to get ice cream, so it soothes his injured feelings.

“Injured feelings, my arse,” Lily sniffs. “You’re just a giant crybaby, James Potter.”

“That is decidedly untrue.”

“It is completely true, and a wonder I didn’t notice it before now,” Lily declares, licking her raspberry and chocolate ice pop in a way that is _thoroughly_ distracting to him. “Why I waste all my time hating you when in reality, you’re too pathetic too feel anything but vague disdain when I look at you, is a mystery.”

“You know, I’m feeling distinctly unloved,” James says. “I’m going to take my ice cream and find that Star Wars kid. She’s got sense.”

“Yes, I’m sure you two will live a happy life together,” Lily says dryly. “Let me know when child protective services come after you—I know a good lawyer.”

“I already have a lawyer,” James says.

“You do?”

“Remus will be heartbroken to know of your lack of faith in his skills.”

“It’s not his skills I’m worried about, it’s your cooperation to this legal expertise.”

“Hey, I am very cooperative!” James protests. “And I’ll have you know Remus once got Sirius and I out of a bank robbery charge.”

Lily comes to a halt and blinks at him. “I’m sorry, bank-_what?”_

“Bank robbery,” James says. “It wasn’t our fault though—the frozen yogurt man put us up to it.”

“The frozen yogurt man,” she repeats.

“Yes.” James nods. “Sketchy fellow, came from Brooklyn. Never did trust him—he always had a funny accent and carried around a little dog.”

“Was it a poodle?” Lily mutters.

James shakes his head. “Pitbull,” he says. “Detective Rosa hated him.”

“Well, if Detective Rosa hated him, then how could he be anything but bad?” Lily says.

“Exactly,” James replies promptly, knowing she’s being sarcastic but wanting to see that annoyed wrinkle in her brow. It appears and he grins.

“For someone who was once convicted of bank robbery,” Lily says loftily, “you’re awfully smug.”

“Haven’t you heard, criminals are always smug,” James counters, nudging her. “It’s why we get away with so much.”

Lily rolls her eyes. “Yes, yes, you’re a right Houdini,” she says dryly. “Now will you hurry your arse up and finish your ice cream? It’s going to start raining.”

James looks up and sees that indeed the sky has turned an ominous, heavy grey and thunder is rumbling in the distance. “Shit,” he says, mostly for a show of responsibility, then grins at Lily. “Fancy a jaunt in the rain, Evans?”

Lily arches a brow. “Is that a challenge, Potter?”

James shrugs. “Isn’t everything, with us?”

“Touché,” Lily says and starts forward. Thunder rumbles. “Have your dad pick up the car when he comes into town tonight.”

“Where’re you going?” James questions, lengthening his stride to catch up with her.

Lily turns her head as the first droplets of rain fall on their heads. Her grin is alive with a challenge. “Walking home,” she says. “Why, afraid to get wet?”

“Never,” James says and grabs her hand. The rain is turning her white blouse see-through, but his gaze is on her face, water droplets sliding through faint freckles.

Lily smiles at him and untangles her hand from his, skipping forward. She spins around in what has now become a downpour, letting out a little laugh. “Fucking English weather, huh?” she says loudly.

James tilts his head back and closes his eyes, feeling the grin spreading across his face. “Fucking English weather,” he agrees.

Lily laughs.

(It’s fucking something.)

* * *

His parents are gone when they arrive back at the house, gasping and dripping in the foyer like a pair of drowned cats.

Outside, thunder rumbles and the rain continues to pound on the windowpanes.

“Fucking hell,” Lily mutters, pulling off her shoes and trying to wring out her hair in a plant. She throws it back over her shoulder and winces at the wet thud.

James cracks a grin, trying not to get distracted by how see-through her white shirt has become. “Hold on, I’ll get some towels,” he says and turns to one of the closets on the walls.

Lily laughs quietly, and he can feel her gaze on his back as he rummages around in there. It’s considering, and it makes him feel alert and on-edge as he turns around, towels in his grasp.

“Interesting evening last night,” Lily says casually, leaning against the wall.

James’s grip on the towel tightens. “It was indeed,” he says. His eyes dart up and down her body. “Looking forward to ruining you again soon.”

Lily laughs, but her gaze is considering. “Ruining may be an exaggeration,” she murmurs.

“Liar,” James proclaims. “Liar, liar. It’s to be expected though, it must be a bit of shock to have a bloke go down on you properly for the first time.”

Lily snorts. “You, James Potter,” she says, “are not the first bloke to go down on me properly.”

James raises a brow.

“You may be the most competent though,” she admits grudgingly.

James grins smugly.

Her face flushes. “Shut up,” she tells him and punctuates this order by stepping into him and dragging him down for a searing kiss.

She tangles her hand in his collar and laces the other through his fingers—_those fucking hands of hers—_but pulls away before James can begin to fully participate.

Their eyes meet, heavy breathing the only sound. Lily swallows and her heated gaze falls to his lips. Something like determination flashes in her gaze and her grip on him tightens.

“Let’s go upstairs,” she murmurs against his mouth, tugging on his hand.

James freezes, meets her gaze. It’s steady, unwavering.

James finally finds his voice. “Now?” He couldn’t sound like a larger idiot, but Lily’s lips twitch, almost like she doesn’t mind.

“Now,” she confirms.

James’s heart is racing—which is _ridiculous,_ he’s done this before and she’s just a girl—and he finds dimly that his hand is shaking as he threads their fingers together. She’s breaking their deal, giving in before he did, and he should be smug about that but he can’t muster the feeling. He kisses her again, her lips soft and her breath ghosting across his mouth.

_Fucking hell, this is Lily Evans. Right here in front of him._

“Okay,” he says.

* * *

It’s probably a mark of how pathetically far gone she is that they don’t even make it over the threshold of his bedroom before Lily’s tearing his clothes off.

“I’d never do this,” Lily says breathlessly, kissing him. She jerks his shirt untucked from his trousers. “Never, never—”

“Shut up, Evans,” James says, gripping her hips and dragging her closer.

His hands are all over her, turning her skin to fire, stealing her breath and she feels like his mouth is going to bruise hers from the fierce pressure.

They stumble backwards in the direction of the bed and James’s hands are at least as determined as hers because by the time the backs of her thighs touch the bed she’s down to her jeans.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous,” he mutters against her mouth, kissing her hard and then trailing the kisses down her neck, her chest, her stomach…

He expertly unbuttons her jeans and pulls them down her legs, Lily practically panting with anticipation above him. She squeezes her fists tight, her entire body flushed. Fuck, she needs him.

James’s specs are crooked as he glances up at her. “Alright, Evans?” he asks, and kisses her cloth covered cunt.

Lily moans, hips jerking and he grins, hands sliding up the back of her calves. He peels her knickers off with practiced ease, then pushes her back onto the bed.

James moves to straddle her and smirks down at her. He brushes hair off her face. “I’m going to get you to cum at least twice tonight,” he informs her. “Figure I owe you one after the movie night debacle.”

Lily’s entire body heats up and she’s not wearing knickers but fuck if she doesn’t become ten times wetter at that. She still manages to keep her voice steady though. “Damn right you do,” she says. “And_ I_ figure you owe me at least one extra orgasm for having to put up with you.”

James laughs, hand tracing her hip. “Shouldn’t that go both ways?” he questions, cocking a brow.

Lily undoes the last two buttons on his shirt, shoves it off his shoulders. “Never said it didn’t,” she says and reaches down to palm him through his trousers.

James hisses, eyes clenching shut for a moment.

Now it’s Lily’s turn to smirk and she distracts him with a plundering kiss while she determindedly rids him of the rest of his clothes.

She reckons he wasn’t too against that aim though, with all that he fairly throws his trousers across the room.

She hasn’t actually seen him naked since their collision in the living room and she doesn’t bother to disguise her interest as she surveys him from the waist down.

James notices her stare and smirks. “Like what you see, Evans?”

“In your dreams, Potter,” she returns, because like hell she’ll admit something to him, even when she most certainly does like what she sees and would like to see more of it. Now. Later. Forever. Preferably all over her.

Lily reaches down and strokes him firmly and he groans, but reaches out a hand and stills her wrist. “Not so fast,” he mutters.

He crawls farther up the bed until he’s settled comfortably between Lily’s spread thighs and she sucks in a breath.

Fucking hell, he’s only done this to her once before but she’s already tense with anticipation, knowing just how skillfully he’ll slide his fingers into her, use his tongue on her until she’s out of her mind, drive her to the edge so thoroughly in a way no bloke has ever managed to do before.

Darting a quick look up at Lily that screams smug arrogance and makes her want to smack him, James drops his head down and begins to lick.

Then suck.

“Oh, _fuck.”_ Lily’s heels dig into the mattress. She bucks up, hand fisting in James’s hair. James’s mouth is warm and wet and _glorious._

_Fuck, fuck, fuck._

_“Oh.”_

Her gasps and moans echo in the room, loud enough that she should probably be embarrassed, but with his tongue delving into her and his thumb stroking her clit it’s all she can do not to arch off the bed in helpless abandon.

James knows what he’s doing, can read her body so easily, and he knows just what to do so that barely a few minutes later her entire body is clenching, her hips jerking off the mattress, a muddled scream of curses and his name bursting from her lips.

James crawls back up her body and even through her haze she can see his smug grin. “One down,” he says.

She’s too breathless to call him an arse, and she can taste herself on his tongue as he kisses her deeply, maneuvering himself between her spread legs.

Lily blindly reaches up and pulls off his glasses, throwing them somewhere on the bed and tugging him closer.

James reaches to the side, searching clumsily for something and comes back with a condom. He slides it on, then kisses her.

“Are you sure about this?” James asks her, peering down and breathing heavily.

Lily arches against him with a gasping breath. “Yes, _yes,_ I swear to _God,_ James, if you don’t fuck me soon—”

James groans and kisses her, the pressure of his mouth against hers becoming harder as he positions himself, then finally slides into her.

Lily gasps, blindly digging her fingers into his back. _“Fuck—”_

He pulls out a bit before slamming back in again.

James’s mouth drops to her shoulder, kissing her shoulder. He groans, a hot pant expelling against her skin. _“Evans.”_

Lily sucks in a breath, her other hand weaving into his hair as she thrusts up to meet him stroke for stroke. She lets out a choked gasp.

“Fuck, Lily.” James groans, hands braced around her head, before slamming back into her with another groan.

Her entire body is on fire, every nerve ending tingling with pleasure and Lily tries to keep the desperate noises from bursting out of her throat. James continues to rut into her, hard and quick.

“Fuck,_ fuck,”_ she gasps out, tightening her grip on his shoulders. He hits a spot in her that makes her see stars and she arches off the bed with a choked moan. _“Fuck.”_ It’s the only word she knows, the only thing she can bring herself to say.

James groans against her mouth, kissing her hard, then reaches down and hikes her left leg up higher. He moves faster, sliding into her with deep strokes.

The change in angle is _glorious_ and Lily bites back a scream at the next thrust, the fit so much deeper. _“Oh,_ fucking hell,” she gasps out. She kisses him blindly, moans. Her head falls back. “Potter—”

It’s way too soon, but the beginning of yet another climax starts to stir inside her.

He thrusts harder, once, twice, and his hand drops down, fingers rubbing her clit harshly. That pushes her over the edge.

Lily cries out loudly as the warmth building in her core erupts, then releases a prolonged moan as her body convulses, bucking her hips hard against him. Every nerve in her body is on fire, the tingling warmth spreading to every inch.

James buries her moan in his mouth and jerks his hips desperately against hers. He slams into her fast, once, twice, three times, then comes with a hoarse shout.

Lily pants, dropping her head back against the pillows. Her hands blindly run across his sweat-slicked skin, coming to rest on the nape of his neck.

James kisses her harshly, breathing heavily, then rolls off her and drops, exhausted, onto the bed.

_Great fucking god, _Lily thinks. _Fucking hell._

She says that last bit aloud and James lets out a rough laugh beside her.

“Fucking hell is right, Evans,” he says. “Can’t believe we’ve been wasting all that time when we could’ve been doing this for the last week.”

She’d been thinking the exact same thing, so she just lets out a breathy exhale. “Well, simply logistically we would’ve had to take breaks,” she says, still panting, lolling her head over to look at him. She doesn’t trust her body to move yet, still shaking from the after-shocks.

“I have very good stamina,” James mutters, eyes closing. He looks content, mussed, completely satisfied.

Lily lets out a brief snort, but doesn’t say anything else. She lazily raises a hand and nudges his shoulder. “Performance review,” she says.

James doesn’t hesitate. “10/10. Best sex I’ve had in a year. You’re a fucking great shagging partner, Evans.”

Her chest warms, a flush spreading down her neck, even though it shouldn’t. She doesn’t want or crave his approval, but she can’t deny it doesn’t feel nice all the same.

“What about me?” James asks after a second. His eyes are still closed but there’s a smirk on his face.

“You’ll do,” she says. “Subject to further investigation.”

James laughs and throws a hand out across the bedspread. “You’re a fucking liar, Evans,” he says. “Just admit it, that was the best sex of your life.”

Lily settles back into the sheets, closing her eyes and releasing a breath to hide her smile. “Egotistical bastard,” she mutters, because there’s no way she’s admitting to him that he’s right.

* * *

**Day 36**

James is feeling slightly less antagonistic to his mum as the day breaks, but that feeling is sorely tested when she pops up as he’s loading his stuff into the boot.

“Oh, I just had to say goodbye one more time,” she sparkles, giving him a tight hug. “I’m going to miss you, my darling.”

James hugs her back. “You know, you have a strange way of showing it,” he says.

Euphemia withdraws and looks at him innocently. “I have no idea what you’re referring to,” she declares, then gives her game away entirely by flicking her eyes over to where Lily is saying goodbye to his dad.

James’s entire body goes warm when he sees her—her red hair is loose and he’s reminded vividly of how soft it felt between his fingers, her fingers digging into his back, her voice moaning in his ear…

Euphemia pats his cheek. “Everything will be fine, darling,” she assures him. “You’ll see.”

James halfheartedly scowls, but Lily’s walking over so he just says, “You’re a class A meddler, mum, but I suppose I love you anyway.”

His mum only winks. “Obviously,” she says, then turns on Lily. “Oh, darling, I’m going to miss you!”

Lily hugs her back easily and James can see the smile on her face. “It was lovely to see you, Euphemia,” she says. “Thank you for everything you’ve done.”

Euphemia waves a hand with a sparkling beam. “Oh, it’s nothing, darling,” she says. “Now, back to the city you two.”

“Bye, mum,” James says.

Lily is smiling as they get into the car and James finds himself glancing over at her every few seconds as they pull onto the motorway.

Lily catches him looking and makes a face. “Stop staring at me,” she says, but she’s still smiling.

James switches his grip on the steering wheel and uses his free hand to grasp hers. Lily squeezes his fingers. “Watch where you’re fucking going,” she says mildly. “Lunatic.”

“Dictator,” he returns.

“Orchestrator of our deaths. I’m too young to die, Potter.”

James grins and turns his gaze back to the road.

* * *

**Day 42**

Lily tilts her head back six days later, luxuriating in the _hot_ water pouring from the shower head for once. She reaches blindly for her shampoo, then frowns when she sees the empty bottle.

The door to the bathroom opens and James walks in frowning at his phone. “Detective Rosa’s trying to eat a plant,” he says. “Just Googled it though, I don’t think it’s poisonous.”

“You used all my shampoo, you arse,” Lily says, glaring at him through the glass door.

James looks up and pauses for a second, eyes darting down her body, then he shrugs. “I was out,” he says.

“Now we’re both out,” Lily snaps, twisting the faucet. “Though at least the water’s hot—_for once.”_

“Hm,” James says, but there’s a grin pulling at the edge of his mouth. “Strange,” he says, “how two people sharing one shower can really conserve water. Better for the environment.”

“Oh, yes I’m sure that’s exactly what’s on your mind when you’re crashing my shower time and making me late for work.”

“The environment, Lily,” he says seriously, “is a cause higher than any. Even work.” He shrugs. “I don’t make the rules.”

“Uh-uh,” Lily says, closing her eyes and tilting back her head. “Make yourself useful and hand me those travel size shampoos you hoard like a freak.”

“It’s called being prepared,” James retorts, but there’s a shuffling sound and a second later the door to the shower opens.

Lily opens her eyes and holds out a hand for the shampoo.

James keeps his hold on the small bottle though, his eyes tracing her neck and collarbones, then lower, to where the water is dripping down her body. He meets her eyes, grinning.

Lily gives him a look. “I don’t have all day, you know,” she says, crossing her arms.

James reaches forward and pulls her arms down, hand grazing her breast on the way. “You shouldn’t do that,” he says, admiring her. “It’s a crime to cover up breasts as lovely as yours.”

Lily’s cheeks flush, but she arches a brow. “As fascinating as this discussion on my tits is,” she says dryly. “I do need that shampoo. I have to go shopping today.”

James just grins, but surrenders the shampoo, though not without poking her in the side.

Lily jumps and scowls at him. “Arse,” she mutters.

James steps away. “You love it,” he returns and goes to the sink, getting out shaving cream and a razor. “What’s this about shopping?”

“We’re out of milk, because _someone_ forgot to get it when he did the shopping yesterday.”

“No—well, actually yes, abut the milk, I’ve been eating dry cereal for two days—”

“I know.”

“—but no,” he continues, rinsing the razor. “Don’t go today. I want to take you somewhere.”

This gives Lily pause and she stares at James for a moment.

They certainly haven’t held back physically during the past few days—including one very memorable incident on the kitchen counter (Euphemia had been right, excellent traction)—but they haven’t spent the night together since that first time and they’ve certainly never gone anywhere together before.

They’re not friends and they still drive each other absolutely mad, they just…also have sex every night. Sleeping with someone, Lily is learning, is a lot easier than it’s made out to be. No worrying about going on dates, or calling back, or talking about their days or fighting about commitment. It’s easy and perfect and _holy hell is it fun._

James doesn’t seem to think anything of his question, continuing to absently shave, then turns around after a few seconds and raises a brow.

“Sure,” Lily says, turning off the shower and wringing out her hair. She steps out of the shower and frowns at the water she’s dripping on the floor. “Now hand me a towel.”

“What’ll you give me?”

“_Potter.”_

James laughs and throws a towel at her.

* * *

James—annoyingly—insists on being mysterious about their final destination and the route they take—three different transfers on the tube and a bus—confounds Lily.

Twenty minutes of travel after setting out, Lily isn’t feeling too warm towards either James or wherever they’re going, and she tells him this as they step out onto the pavement somewhere in Covent Garden.

James just grins. “Will you stop complaining?” he tells her.

“Never.”

James rolls his eyes and tugs on her hand. “Move it,” he tells her. “The quicker you walk, the quicker we’ll get there.”

“But where _is_ there.”

“There,” James says annoyingly, “is _there. _So now let’s hurry up and get _there.”_

“You are not amusing, Potter,” Lily snaps, crossing her arms and trying not to give into the urge to smile.

“Really? I thought my stand-up act was stunningly delivered,” James says.

“Stunningly badly, perhaps.”

“You wound me, Evans,” he says, but he’s grinning, then comes to a stop. “Come on, we’re here.”

Lily has a retort, but then she looks in front of her and it dies on her lips.

Lily blinks. “We’re at a bookstore,” she says.

James grins. “Indeed we are,” he says. “Move it, Evans, you’re not going to get anything gawping on the sidewalk.”

He pushes open the door to the little shop, tucked between a private garden and an antiques shop, and Lily follows reluctantly. “What exactly is the purpose of traveling half an hour to get to a bookshop when we have a perfectly respectable one just minutes from our flat—” she begins, then comes to a halt.

It’s a bookshop, true enough, with all the standard books and wooden shelves, but it’s…

Lily’s eyes don’t know where to look—at the beautiful, leather-bound editions of classic fairytales tucked in an ornate wood case, the carpeted floor that’s embroidered with maps of fantasy lands, the winding spiral staircase going up three stories, the rough wooden ceiling scripted with quotes—and she’s vaguely aware of James grinning at her.

“Just a bookshop, eh?” he says, sliding his hands into his pockets.

Lily shakes her head soundlessly, turning in place to look at everything. “Not at all,” she says breathlessly. “It’s…holy _shit.”_

A little girl sitting on a stool with a picture book looks up and makes a loud shushing sound. “No bad words,” she says.

“Uh, sorry,” Lily says, her cheeks heating, then her glance catches on the spiral staircase. “What’s up there?” she asks.

“Fiction, fairytales, travel section, psychology,” a little old woman behind the counter says. She squints at them. “Readers?” she asks.

“Yes,” James answers. “I’ve been in here a few times, but it’s her first time.”

The woman hums. “Good luck finding your way in here, girlie,” she says to Lily, gesturing. “You have to know your way around books.”

“I do,” Lily says. “I’ve always loved reading.”

It’s true, she just hadn’t known that James knew that. She glances at him, but he’s just grinning easily at her.

“Want to take a look around?” he offers.

Lily stares at him. “Is there any world in which my answer would be no?” she asks.

He laughs.

“Start in the fairytales,” the old woman says with certainty. “Second floor, third bookcase.”

“I guess we’re climbing,” James says and Lily follows him to the staircase, trying not to gawk at everything around her.

It’s without a doubt the most gorgeous bookshop she’s ever been in and she whispers this to James as they climb the iron stairway, painted with faded gold flowers.

James grins at her as they reach the second level. “That’s what I thought too,” he says, “I discovered this place when I was in undergrad at King’s College. Same lady’s owned it forever.”

Lily looks around the second level, taking in the comfy couches underneath tiny stained glass windows, wooden bookcases painted by a careful hand and that same beautifully embroidered red carpet.

“Fairytales,” James says, turning left. He pulls a heavy edition of Hans Christian Anderson off the shelf and runs a hand over the embossed leather cover.

“These are so beautiful,” Lily says, looking at the array of spines in front of her. She shakes her head. “Bloody hell, where does she get her books?”

“Online shop,” someone says and Lily almost drops her book in shock.

A girl in her late teens with curly blonde hair grins sheepishly at them. “Sorry to startle you,” she says. “I’m Marlene—owners niece. She gets her books from the usual sources, but she likes to carry some special editions—those she orders from a printing press in Edinburgh.” She nods at the book James is holding. “That’s one of them.”

“I’m James,” James says, offering his hand. “And this is Lily. Your shop is beautiful.”

The girl grins. “Auntie built it herself,” she says. “And I helped a bit, of course.” She shrugs and her expression becomes somber. “We’re going to be closing this summer, though. I’m off to uni next fall and Auntie can’t keep it up by herself.” She sighs. “Everything’s half off because of that.”

“That’s terrible,” Lily says, looking around. “This is a special place.”

Marlene shrugs again and smiles wearily at them. “Let me know if you have any questions,” she says and turns away.

James watches her leave, a frown on his face. “It’s too bad that it’s closing,” he says, looking around.

“Yeah, it is,” Lily says. “But I’m glad we came here before it’s gone.”

James shakes away his seriousness and grins at her. “See, Lily Evans?” he says. “I always know what I’m doing.”

Lily makes a face. “Not _always,”_ she says. “Or do I have to remind you of the dropping incident two days ago?”

“For the millionth time, it was an accident,” James grumbles. “_And _I caught you!”

Lily crosses her arm. “Only after I nearly broke my neck on the floor,” she retorts.

“I made it up to you,” James says. “_Well_ made it up to you.”

It’s true, and the shock of nearly falling to her death had been swept away by the sight of his head between her thighs and the _bloody things_ he could do with his tongue…

But there was no way she was going to tell him any of that, so she just gives him a dry smile. “I’ll let you think that, Potter,” she says.

James’s smirk tells her he can see right through her words, but he just nudges her with his shoulder and says, “Lies, lies. Now get a move on, before I call the police on you, Evans.”

“The lie police? You know, I don’t believe there is such a thing, Potter.”

“Actually there is,” he says. “They’re native to the West End.”

Lily laughs before she can stop herself.

James looks smug.

“I love books,” Lily says a moment later, tracing the spines of the books. “I love words.”

“Is that why you went into journalism?” James asks, leaning against one of the shelves.

Lily shrugs. “I suppose,” she says. “I studied it in uni because it was writing—and I always knew I wanted to write.”

“Why didn’t you study creative writing or literature instead?” James wonders.

“Can’t make a career with that,” Lily reminds him, grinning wryly.

But James frowns. “That’s not strictly true,” he says.

“Well, my mum basically killed herself to put me through uni,” Lily says. “And studying writing would’ve meant I’d graduate with no immediate job prospects and no way of making a living. Journalism just made more sense.”

James didn’t look like he liked that answer, but he wasn’t enough of an arse to protest. “Do you think you’d ever write?” he asks, jerking his chin at the books. “Like, really write?”

Lily laughs and shrugs. “Probably not,” she admits. “I don’t have the determination to see something like that through. Or the creativity.”

“I think you could,” James says.

Suddenly uncomfortable, Lily shrugs and replaces the book on the shelf. “Anyway,” she says.

James seems to get that she doesn’t want to talk anymore and he doesn’t press the subject as they walk through the shop.

In the travel section, James glances around to see if anyone is near, then he pushes her to the shelves and kisses her.

Lily makes a soft sound of surprise, then quickly gets lost in the now familiar feel of his mouth, winding her hands into his hair and tugging him closer.

She can feel him grin against her mouth and his fingers brush under the hem of her shirt, drawing a gasp from her mouth. It reminds her where they are, though, and she pulls away.

“Hey, we’re in public,” she says breathlessly.

James litters kisses on the underside of her jaw. “Don’t care,” he mutters.

Lily lets out a sharp, breathless laugh, but draws away firmly, smoothing down her clothes. “Not in front of the _books, _James,” she scolds.

James stares at her. “Are you fucking serious?”

Lily gives him her sternest look. “Deadly,” she says. “Now move your arse. It’s too dangerous to have you in this shop.”

James grumbles, but relents and Lily grabs the copy of Hans Christian Anderson fairytales on her way out.

James wanders off while she’s paying and the little old woman squints at her as she rings her up. “That’s a handsome young man you have there,” she says.

Lily’s face flushes. “He’s not mine,” she says. “I mean—he’s just—we’re not—” she flounders, “thank you for the book.”

She gives the woman a polite smile and flees.

Looking for James, she spots him standing in the corner with the blonde girl, Marlene. They’re talking quietly and there’s a serious look on Marlene’s face as she nods. She hands something to James, who tucks it in his pocket.

“Call me,” Lily hears Marlene say as she draws closer. She fights not to have her eyebrows shoot up. Marlene spots her and gives her a quick smile, then says, “Bye,” and hurries back to the register.

James turns around and gives her a smile. “Got your book?”

“Mm,” Lily says noncommittally, staring at him with narrowed eyes.

James doesn’t seem to notice anything strange as they exit the shop, then he glances over at Lily. “What’s the face?” he asks.

Lily crosses her arms. “Don’t you think she’s a bit young for you?” she asks.

James stares at her for a moment, uncomprehending, then understanding flashes across his face and he tilts his head back and laughs. “I wasn’t asking her out,” he tells her, grinning. He tugs on her elbow and wraps his arm around her. “My mum loves books—I wanted to see about getting a shipment of them delivered to her for the birthday.”

“Oh.” Lily’s face heats. “I see.”

James starts to walk forward, still grinning and Lily elbows him. “Cut out that face,” she orders.

James doesn’t look at her. “Nope,” he says, and grins even wider.

“Fuck you,” Lily snaps, hating that her face is red, hating that she was jealous. For god’s sake, its not like she has a bloody claim on him or something.

James just keeps grinning.

It pisses her off, but like with most things with them, the anger turns to something else as they get on the tube to go home. They’re sitting side by side, legs pressed together, James staring off into the distance with an undecipherable expression.

His hand brushes hers and Lily’s eyes flutter closed. She bites her lip, heart starting to pound, and chances a glance at him.

He’s still got that same blank expression, but his thumb traces circles on her palm, making her shiver.

_She’s so fucked, _she thinks.

James’s phone rings as they’re entering the lift (finally repaired) and as he pulls it out Lily sees the name flashing on the screen.

_Sirius Black._

James hesitates, glancing at the screen and then at Lily. They’re the only people in the lift.

The doors ding and slide closed.

James presses ignore and drags her closer and kisses her.

Lily kisses him back furiously, hands tangling in his hair, her heart pounding so loudly she can’t hear anything but his mouth moving on hers, his body pressed up against hers…

The lift dings as they arrive on the second floor and James doesn’t separate from her as they back out of the lift and into the hallway.

His hands dig into her hips and Lily gasps, drawing her mouth away from his to fumble for her keys—

They barely make it into the flat before she’s unbuckling his trousers, shoving the fabric down and maneuvering to her knees.

“Fucking hell,” James mutters in a hiss of breath, hands going to her hair.

Lily would’ve smirked, but she focuses all her attention in front of her. He’s fully erect and his hips jerk as she wraps her hand around him and strokes firmly, once, twice.

She glances up at him, seeing the almost pained expression on James’s face and she leans forward and slowly licks a long stripe down the underside of his cock.

His hands tighten in her hair and he sucks in a breath.

Lily does it again.

“Evans,” James says, voice ragged.

“Potter,” she returns, then takes him fully in her mouth.

_“Fuck,” _he groans and she can imagine him throwing his head back. He grips her hair tight enough to hurt but she doesn’t even notice the sting as she hollows her cheeks, rhythmically moving her head back and forth.

James’s groans are likely loud enough to be heard in the hallway but she can’t bring herself to care.

Every time she’d done this for one of her previous boyfriends it had been a chore, something she’d somewhat enjoyed, but mostly done out of expectation. This time, though, she wants to do it, wants to make him groan and curse, wants to make him lose control as thoroughly as he makes her lose control.

He’s groaning, her name appearing as either a curse or a plea in between gasps. Lily prides herself on being thorough and excellent at whatever she puts her mind to, and this is no exception.

Within minutes James’s groans become even more urgent and she moves her head even faster, hand stroking what she can’t fit in her mouth and throat.

“Fuck, _Evans—” _His groan echoes in the flat and his hips jerks, fingers tightening their grip in her hair as he comes.

Lily keeps working him through it, swallowing everything.

Slowly, she eases back onto her heels, releasing him with a pop.

James pants, his face flushed as he looks down at her.

Lily wipes her mouth and rises to her feet. “Hm,” she says and reaches forward to straighten his glasses. “You need to do the dishes,” she informs him.

She doesn’t give him time to form a response and walks off, casual as can be.

* * *

“I am so proud of you,” Mary says that night, propping herself up on her elbow as she sprawls on Lily’s bed. “I never thought you had it in you.”

Lily, lying on her back on the ground, snorts and stretches. “Me either, to be honest,” she admits. “But well…it’s working.”

And that’s honestly the most surprising thing of all, that she and James haven’t killed each other yet.

“Ah-ah,” Mary says smugly, reaching for a strawberry from the bowl they’d brought. “So, how is it?”

Lily pushes up onto her elbows. “You mean the sex?” she asks. “The sex is great, honestly. Best I’ve ever had.”

“I knew it,” Mary says. “I knew he’d be good.”

Lily scowls and aims a kick at her. “You’re horrible,” she says.

“Horribly correct,” Mary says loftily and throws a strawberry at her. “Now spill.”

Lily flops back down. “It’s…fun,” she admits. “Being with him is fun. Even when we’re, you know, he’s still driving me mad, making little comments and jokes—we even got into an argument the other day.”

“During?” Mary’s brows shoot up.

Lily nods, a laugh bubbling up at the memory. “It was about laundry detergent.” She’d been_ trying_ to do the wash when he came up behind her and slipped his hand down her skirt and then…he was fucking her against the wall when he had the nerve to start up a conversation about the type of laundry detergent they were using. The curses that spilled forth as he drove her to climax hadn’t just been exclamations of pleasure and she’d hit him over the head with the detergent bottle as soon as they were done. He’d just laughed, the bastard.

“Laundry detergent, how kinky,” Mary muses.

Lily throws a sock at her, then shrugs. “But anyway, our arrangement works. We’re not friends or dating, so there’s no responsibility or pressure. I go to work, he goes to uni and out with his mates, I see you—then when we’re home or in the mood we just—” she flaps her hands.

“Fuck,” Mary supplies.

“Right.”

“Where exactly?” Mary presses, rolling onto her stomach.

Lily stares at her. “What do you mean _where?”_ she demands. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Plenty, my love. Now tell me where exactly you and your fit flatmate are getting dirty.”

Lily scowls. “There’s not one particular place,” she says, crossing her arms. “The kitchen counter, the couch—my room once. But we don’t spend the night together. That’s too…” she shakes her head. “And I’ve never been to his room.”

“Maybe he’s hiding the dead bodies of all his former lovers,” Mary suggests.

Lily throws a pillow at her. “Mostly it’s in the shower,” she continues. “He’s got this bloody obsession with walking in on me. I have to get up an hour earlier in the morning so I’m not late for work.”

Mary raises a brow. “An hour, hm?”

Lily flushes, but says, “He’s very…thorough.”

Good lord, is he ever.

Against her will, her eyes flick to the closed door of her bedroom. James had set up a mess of books and papers on the couch to study for his exams and she’d thoroughly checked to make sure their conversation wouldn’t be audible to him.

Mary sees the direction of her eyes but decides to be a good mate and doesn’t mention it. She does, however, bring something else up. “Just one flaw in your plan,” she points out, eating a strawberry with great delicacy. “This plan is dependent on you not catching feelings. What if you do?”

Lily snorts before she can stop herself. _Catch feelings for James Potter?_

“Trust me,” she says, “I won’t.”


End file.
